Kagael
by Phyllis Nodrey
Summary: When a sorcerer seeks to undo the work of the Charter, every strand of fate stands in the balance. Lirael's strong-minded daughter and Hedge's demonic son are caught up in a struggle to stop him. -FINAL UPDATE-
1. Prologue: Harbinger of Doom

What if someone were to unweave the Charter, unravel the world into what it once was--a world where the idea of **mercy is obsolete**, a place where Free Magic beasts and dangerous magic-users exist without law, often shackled to the will of those with more power?

One man thinks he can be the one with that power, and he works to undo the work of the Seven. He must be stopped.

The tangled threads of Fate bring Kagael, the daughter of Lirael Goldenhand and the demonic son of Hedge together. But little do they know of the significant roles they'll fulfill in the tumultuous battle of the divinities, and the Fate of the world...

-PROLOGUE-

"What is it?"

"Jorbert reporting, Sergeant Merill, sir! Clayr paperwing spotted approaching over South Wall, sir!"

"What the hell, Jorbert, no one told me we had Clayr coming!" Merill was a large man, well over forty. His bristling, graying mustache twitched as he got up and turned to face the guard.

"Begging your pardon, sir! But I just did, sir!"

"Aw, shaddap!" the Sergeant growled as he buckled a swordbelt on over his considerable girth. "Have the Elders been informed?"

"Yessir! Guardsman-Lieutenant Egelbirg went himself, sir!"

"On your way then, Jorbert. Round up some men and get 'em down to the docking platform." The sergeant straightened the collar of his stiff coat and harrumphed disapprovingly. "Ruddy Clayr...don't tell ye a thing afore droppin' in on ye...Well! Ye can't give 'em a proper welcome on short notice." Still muttering, Sergeant Merill went out of his office following his subordinate.

Shortly thereafter, a number of hastily assembled Royal Guards of the village Navis were gathered a short distance from the paperwing platform. The Sergeant stood at the head of the throng, puffing disparagingly in the chill morning air.

The paperwing was very close now, and the Clayr insignia of stars was visible against the blue and black.

Despondent eyes watched the aircraft glide to a landing. A silvery head could be seen in the cockpit, and as the hatch slid back, the pilot lifted his...her...? Sergeant Merill could not tell. At any rate, the pilot's head lifted and Merill blinked against the bright sunlight bouncing off a circlet of iridescent moonstones.

The pilot vaulted out of the cockpit and landed on the platform with some unsettling clacking sounds. The cause of this was soon revealed to be a suit of black leather armor reinforced by plates of red-enameled metal at neck, shoulders, wrists, and every other joint. The long boots were of the same loud material, and there was the long, black scabbard of a rapier at the pilot's hip.

"We the Royal Guards of the Old Kingdom welcome ye to the village Navis, esteemed emissary of the Clayr," Sergeant Merill said in as pompous a tone as he could manage with the strange nagging feeling that had started at the back of his head. "Erm, please forgive the...inapt welcome. Y'see, we were on rather short notice of your arrival, ahaha..." His laugh trailed off miserably at the withering glance the pilot was giving him. The pilot's eyes were a bloody garnet, like a cobra's.

"A sorry welcome indeed," the pilot spoke. His voice was that of a pubescent male. His smooth, almost pretty face was marred by the way his lips curled in disgust. "Pathetic place, this. I only came for the ocean view."

It certainly sounded like an attempt at sarcasm, so a few of the younger members of the guard attempted half-hearted chuckles.

"The Clayr that gave this to me was a great deal more interesting," the pilot continued with a nasty sneer, fingering the tiara of moonstones across his brow. "I threw her out of the wing when we were flying over some nastily sharp-looking glaciers. She screamed all the way down." The young man cackled.

Sergeant Merill lost his patience. "This isn't funny, lad! What manner of herald are ye and why are ye telling such hideous fibs?"

The large claret eyes blinked at him. "What, you think I'm fibbing? This isn't the first time I've hijacked a wing, you know. As for a herald...you may call me the Harbinger of Doom!" He once against lapsed into giggles.

"Harbinger of Doom," Merill growled, ten times as ticked off as he'd been earlier on. "This is more than enough of yore ludicrous behavior. Jean, Renward, take him inside for questioning. Jorbert, send a messagehawk to the Clayr and report this nuisance immediately."

"That won't do," the silver-haired young man smiled. "I'm afraid Orkaire has your pathetic chickencoop—_Navis_ was it?—surrounded to the last man. As for questioning, I'll gladly tell you everything you want to ask, right here."

The soldiers Jean and Renward already had hold of the mad pilot's arms, but the madman was grinning away as though this was all a game. And it probably was, Merill thought irately, some stupid hoax set up by some bored and rebellious teenage Clayr. "What's yer name, then?" the sergeant barked.

"Gwidhe," the young man replied, sounding almost giddy with eagerness. "Gwidhe Ulseil, son of Hedge Ulseil."

Something sounded familiar, but it didn't quite click. Obviously, Gwidhe saw that from the expression on the sergeant's face and was enraged.

"I am Gwidhe Ulseil," he snarled, "Wing Commander of Orkaire, Son of Hedge the Sorcerer!"

The first part was blather, and the second, well...

"But o' course yore the son o' Hedge the Sorcerer!" Merill chortled, "Why, I'm the Prime Minister of Ancelstierre myself!"

The young man was not in a good mood now; it was quite obvious from the way his face was contorting. He muttered something.

"Come again?" Merill inquired.

"Nincompoops...bastards..." Gwidhe was growling. "That's what you all are! Idiots! You killed my father and now I'll kill you!" His voice became an unearthly shriek with the last words. Jean and Renward winced, and suddenly they were wreathed in golden flames of Charter fire.

Sergeant Merill's eyes bulged at the scene before him. But only for a moment. He soon regained his composure and began belting out orders. "The man's a mage! Beware! Send for the Scouts! Scouts! Now!"

Gwidhe laughed insanely as he bore down on the group, flailing with his flame-wreathed Charter sword. "That's right!" he shouted after the soldiers breaking away to get Scouts. "Send for your pet mages, you sniveling incompetents!"

Merill drew his broadsword and swept it up to meet Gwidhe's blade in one rapid motion. What a mistake to make! The young man's moonstone tiara hid a Charter mark underneath, a mark redolent with Free Magic and corruption. Flames engulfed the sergeant's sword and he cried out as his hand was scorched, but clung gamely on. Gwidhe was forcing his sword back with a strength that was insane. Merill choked and jerked aside with all his might, backing awkwardly from his attacker.

The Scouts had been found! Cries of _Anet! Calew! Ferhan!_ sliced the air along with the silvery Charter knives. Gwidhe broke away from Merill and blocked every last blade with his flaming sword. Then, he drew strange marks into the air with rapid motions of his left hand and an explosion of light ensued.

Merill nearly fell over with shock. The young man had disappeared! The sergeant leaned on his sword, breathing hard. He had just recovered his breath and was about to rally the troops when an echoing flash of light atop Navis' tallest watchtower drew everyone's eyes.

Gwidhe stood there, the naked blade of his Charter sword resting against his red-armored shoulder. "Fools!" he roared. His voice was magically magnified, and doors and windows flew open across the village. "The Charter burn you all for fools! Ulseil will win! Ulseil. Always. Wins!" His garnet eyes were wide, dancing like living flame.

And then Navis erupted in fire.

Something in the sky darkened the flaming settlement below. Two Charter sendings were lowered onto the watchtower. They retrieved an unconscious Wing Commander of Orkaire, then whatever had brought them here took them back up. Suddenly, the sky had cleared. Or rather, gone was the dark shadow from the skies above Navis, replaced by the writhing throes of smoke, flame, and the screams of innocent people.

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**Author's Note:** Well! That was insane! Please review after you read... I will have Chapter One up as soon as I'm done writing it!


	2. One: A Distressing Summons

DISCLAIMER: "Abhorsen", all names, places, and related indicia are the sole property of Garth Nix, whose work I hold in great admiration. However, I wouldn't mind owning the Disreputable Dog--she's a real hoot!

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CHAPTER ONE: A DISTRESSING SUMMONS

"By Right of Blood," a young woman spoke. She was standing ankle-deep in the hastening black water of the river of Death. "By Right of Heritage, by Right of the Charter, and by Right of the Seven who wove it, I would see through the veil of time, to Forwin Mill of Ancelstierre. I would witness the Seventh Binding and Breaking of Orannis the Destroyer to learn of the sacrifice and that which was achieved. So let it be!"

Kagael shivered violently as suns and moons flew past her right eye. After two seconds that felt like two eternities, the rapid motion in the Dark Mirror slowed until finally a single sun could be seen, glaring soberly down upon a scene of carnage.

And there was her mother. Lirael. She still had both her hands, and she was wielding a giant, silvery-red sword. Witch-fire was like hellish gold garlands all along the leering hilt and shining blade as the Abhorsen sliced the hemispheres of the Destroyer in two. The fire consumed her hand.

Lirael screamed. "_DOG!_"

Kagael swallowed, feeling her mother's past pain like it was her own. Tears trickled steadily from the eye watching the battle.

Inside the mirror, the Dog leapt, large and black, outlined in silver flames.

Kagael let out a throat-wrenching shriek as her mother's right wrist was torn from her arm.

Now the Dog lay on the bloody grass, neck and muzzle streaked white. Her wise, old amber eyes glazed over. Kagael sobbed helplessly as Lirael bent over the Dog, wailing.

"No...it was supposed to be me...Don't leave me, Dog...I love you..."

Kagael blinked rapidly to clear her clouded cobalt eyes. She saw now a green dog statuette laying in the blood-soaked grass. Lirael was sprawled unconscious beside it. Her mother's face, young then, was tear-streaked and terribly tired. Kagael winced. The severed stump of Lirael's arm was curved around the soapstone figurine.

Kagael prepared to end the vision, and even as she did, she heard a voice.

"I love you, too, Mistress," the voice intoned. "Farewell."

Kagael shut her eyes tight, breathing hard. Grateful that her task was done, she shut the Dark Mirror with a click.

"You'll never make a Remembrancer if you're so weak." Kagael's brother Daniel watched her with a bemused expression as she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her surcoat. Daniel was two years younger than Kagael's fifteen. He was not quite as tall as her yet, but his lankiness promised that he would one day be much taller.

Kagael sniffed with finality. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Danny," she told him. "You never have to witness the horrors I see. Gazing into the Dark Mirror isn't exactly my idea of entertainment. It takes considerable strength just to watch the whole darn thing!"

Daniel grinned. "Oh lighten up, Kagy. So what was it this time? Oh, right. You had to watch Mum lose her dog."

Kagael glared. "Whatever you want to talk about, let's get out of Death first."

Daniel shrugged. "All right then. After you, sister."

Kagael looked at him suspiciously.

He heaved a sigh. "I am your _protector_, she-who-is-sadly-lacking-of-necromantic-potential. Mother always insists that I watch your back when she can't come with you to do so."

"Right, right," Kagael muttered, stepping over the boundary. Instantly, the cracking of ice all over her body and the bright rays of sun greeted her senses. She brushed the flakes of ice and frost from her body, bent to wipe her sword on the sun-warmed grass, and returned the Charter-spelled blade to its sheath. Kagael heaved an enormous sigh as she tucked the silver case that was the Dark Mirror into its pouch.

Daniel joined her at her side. "Come on," he said, "let's hurry back, cut across the north lawn, and get something to eat and drink; you look worse than the old gardener sendings."

"Oh, I _do_ try," Kagael muttered moodily, then heaved another sigh. "I mean, thanks for being considerate, Danny."

They headed north and west back towards the stepping stones that led to the House. They left the tall waterfall behind, though the thundering sound of the crashing cascade still filled the backdrop. Sunlight on the broad river made it sparkle quite madly, making Kagael shield her eyes and look away.

"Race you 'cross the stones!" Daniel called jovially.

"That's dangerous!" Kagael yelled back.

"Chicken!" Daniel goaded, taking off.

"Come back here, you haphazard…immature…child!" In spite of her nagging conscience, Kagael ran after her kid brother.

A chase across the stepping stones was quite forbidden to the children of Lirael Goldenhand. The River Ratterlin was swift and especially perilous this close to the rapids. The danger of it all and the knowing that she was breaking a rule made Kagael feel ridiculously childish and rather happy. She took bounding leaps from stone to stone, sometimes wobbling precariously and falling behind, other times bounding ahead of her brother. Spray from the rushing water dampened her face and clothes.

The siblings arrived at the riverbank, through the river mist, panting happily. Daniel teased Kagael about how far behind he'd left her as he pushed open the gate to the eastern courtyard.

"What's going on...?" The two of them looked on in bafflement as a squadron of sendings hurried past them, their Charter-knit robes whisking in their haste. The sendings were carrying a bandolier of bells, a long, Charter-spelled sword, and a sack of provisions towards the paperwing platform.

Kagael and Daniel headed after them. They soon saw their mother on the platform beside the paperwing, standing with her back to them. Lirael reached out her golden Charter hand and accepted her bells while a sending busily buckled on her sword.

"Mother," Kagael called, approaching her. "Where are you going?"

Lirael turned. She was a beautiful woman of thirty-five years. She wore her long black hair loose, hanging down to her waist and her face was long and pale. Lirael looked terribly worried as she faced her children. "I received a summons by messagehawk from Belisaere. It's dreadfully urgent."

"You're going to the capital?" Daniel asked, confused.

"I only wish," Lirael sighed. "I am to fly to Navis, right away. Queen Ellimere says that the outpost has been burned to the ground. Lady Sabriel has already gone ahead. Apparently, whoever did it was a powerful entity...of Free Magic."

Kagael grimaced. "Burned to the ground! Were there survivors?"

Lirael adjusted her bandolier. "Here, Kagy, read the letter for yourself." Handing a thin scroll of parchment to her daughter, she boarded the paperwing. "Take good care of yourselves!" Lirael said, "I'll try to be back within a week!"

"A week!" Kagael shrieked, even as the hatch slid shut.

She and her brother backed away from the platform as Lirael whistled a series of high notes. The wings jerked to life and the craft was airborne.

"Come home safe, Mother!" Kagael shouted as her brother yelled, "Take care, Mum!"

Lirael waved at her children through the window with her good hand, then the paperwing turned and headed north.

---

Kagael sat at her mother's writing desk, irritably flipping through a book on the making of Charter Skins. The book belonged to her mother and, according to Lirael, had been of great use to her during her years as Abhorsen-in-waiting. Kagael found the book terribly boring and the spells described were all tremendously time-consuming. Personally, Kagael preferred learning marks and combinations that had immediate and gratifying effects. Battle magic held a particular fascination for her, as well as spells for healing. Kagael did not seem to have the patience or the memory to learn long chains of Charter marks.

With a sigh, she shut the book and returned it to the small drawer in the desk.

Lirael's desk was of smooth, dark cherry wood. Kagael had never been particularly interested by its contents, but she remembered that when she was five, a soapstone statuette not unlike the one in her vision used to sit on the wooden surface. Lirael often took it in her hand and stroked it as she worked or read.

Then one day, the figurine was lost. Her mother went into a frenzy of searching, but could not seem to find it. After about a month, Lirael gave up. Kagael remembered how upset she'd been for her mother, even though she did not understand. Now she thought perhaps she comprehended what the statuette had meant to her mother.

"Are you going to read that letter anytime soon?" inquired something small and white from the doorway to Lirael's study.

Kagael looked up to see a cat with lantern green eyes cocking his head at her questioningly. "Master Yrael," she said, grinning. "Now what would you be doing hanging around here?"

"Who? I'm the Mogget, you know," the small white cat mewed innocently.

Smiling and shaking her head, Kagael pulled out the thin scroll and laid it on the desk. Looking at the letter, she felt a little...anger. What in the world could have happened that needed her mother away so suddenly? It was not as though the Destroyer was rampaging through cities. Quickly and deliberately, Kagael undid the ribbon and flattened out the scroll.

__

Dearest Aunt Lirael, It read, like a casual greeting from a niece. But almost instantly the letter changed.

__

The town of Navis has been razed.

We received the news roughly four days after the said event. A company of Travelers had seen the smoke and gone to see what the matter was. They had a mage among them who quickly identified the damage to be caused by massive amounts of Charter fire backed with Free Magic, such as only a powerful sorcerer could summon up.

The Travelers found roughly fifteen townspeople in the surrounding wilds. None could give an accurate account of what had happened. Only one person said she'd seen the destructive force, and described it as a demon of black and crimson as tall as the watchtower wielding a sword of spiritual flame. This description cannot be trusted as the witness was an elderly woman of est. 76 years running a high fever.

The mage ventured into the city and found who was apparently the Guardsman-Sergeant of the outpost. The man was suffering from severe burns and died shortly after uttering the words, 'Ulseil', 'messagehawks to Belisaere', and the name of our northern neighbor 'Orkaire".

Please leave for Navis with all haste. Mother has left already, and Father has gone to Orkaire to see their Emperor.

My deepest apologies for such short notice; I sent for you as soon as I found out.

With Love,

Ellimere.

Kagael read the letter again, scarcely believing it. "Can you believe it!" she cried, "Orkaire launched an attack on one of our towns for no apparent reason!"

"That's jumping to conclusions, Kagael," Mogget said lazily. "Orkairen's are short-sighted and grasping, but not quite outrageously stupid enough to attempt such a feat."

He was probably right, Kagael thought, folding the letter and putting it into her mother's drawer. Something occurred to her. "Mogget, what's 'Ulseil'?"

The cat ignored her, busily licking clean his claws.

"It's a sort of demon, isn't it?"

Yet again, silence.

Kagael looked at the cat and shook her head. "You don't know, do you? I thought you were smarter than that."

"Ulseil is a surname," the Mogget said blandly. He got to his paws and began slinking out of the room. "Quite an old, rare one. Like Abhorsen."

And Kagael was left staring at the twitching end of his white tail as he disappeared down the hall.

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Author's Note: What's next? I promise I won't have any more dreadfully boring chapters like this one! You'll get to see a little more of our fiery Gwidhe! Kagael's going to do a liddle bit of research on the surname 'Ulseil', and then the adventure kicks off for real!

Oh yes, and one more thing. A friend of mine read the prologue and commented (through thick yawns) "That Gwee character is pretty interesting."

"Gwee?" I repeated stupidly, then, "Oh! No, no, no! That's not the way you pronounce it!"

"Then how do you say it?" my kind reader asked. "I dunno," I replied, "just not Gwee."

Heh. Don't forget to review, please!


	3. Two: Ulseil, The Fire Demon

DISCLAIMER: "Abhorsen", all names, places, and related indicia are the sole property of Garth Nix, whose work I hold in great admiration. However, I wouldn't mind owning the Disreputable Dog!

Also, you'll detect a bit of influence in here from Dianne Wynne Jones's Howl's Moving Castle and Castle in the Air. I just thought that it'd be an awfully nifty addition to my fic if powerful sorcerers could command moving castles!

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CHAPTER TWO: ULSEIL, THE FIRE DEMON

Nicholas Sayre thought that his daughter looked rather vacant when she came down to dinner that night. Kagael piled about three rolls on her plate, poured a bowl of milk, and excused herself to eat in the reading room.

Nicholas never did have his wife's firm way with the kids; "Why there?" he asked even as he reminded himself to politely but adamantly tell her to stay.

As was usual.

"Research," Kagael said blandly. Then she promptly stuffed a roll in her mouth—a clear indication that she wasn't going to answer any more questions.

Nicholas Sayre heaved a sigh as she stepped briskly up the stairs. Kagael disappeared around a corner, and Nicholas turned to Daniel. His son was busily eating his portion of poached salmon, presenting to his father a not altogether attentive visage of the tousled top of his head.

As was usual.

Nicholas thought it over for a moment. He didn't suppose he could bring up Kagael's odd behavior without sounding like something of an idiot. So he let it go.

As was usual.

---

Kagael entered the family library and set her improvised dinner on the window seat. Mogget was lounging languidly on a pile of what looked to be a selection of cushions found from around the house. Kagael almost laughed; she'd had a feeling that he would be there; she had even poured him milk.

Kagael set the dish down by the cushions. The feline purred his appreciation.

"So," Kagael said, "are you going to tell me anything about this Ulseil before I resort to delving into these dusty shelves?"

Mogget looked up, his lamp-like eyes innocent. Then he promptly lowered his head again and continued to daintily lap up the milk.

Kagael sighed. "Fine."

She happened upon it by chance; the book was fairly new, written by a court scribe ten years ago on events pertaining and leading to her mother's Binding and Breaking of the Destroyer. It did not look like a volume that would yield much helpful information, and Kagael had meant to put it aside. But as it was, she was the sort whose attention was easily diverted, and the scribe's artfully written account captivated her.

After reading a chapter or so, Kagael reminded herself of the task at hand and somewhat dutifully flipped to the index. That was where she found it, under the U's.

"Ulseil," she murmured, quite surprised. Quickly, she flipped to the corresponding page.

There followed a page-long description on "Hedge Ulseil, Necromancer, Free Magic Sorcerer". He originated from the Old Kingdom's southern neighbor, Ancelstierre, Kagael read, but had apparently been a person of little or no importance in the society. Thus, the writer continued, his background was very obscure; there was no information on family or acquaintances, other than the fact that he had worked, or rather, worked through the necromancer Chlorr of the Mask. There were records that Orkaire had, at one point, solicited the sorcerer's talents. Then the Old Kingdom's own ravager Kerrigor had enlisted his service.

It continued on telling of the man's considerable prowess in necromancy and sorcery, his conducts in the service of the Destroyer, then ended simply that he had been killed by Lirael Goldenhand and passed beyond the Ninth Gate. So he was dead, but Kagael already knew that.

She read the page over again, but found nothing new. Yawning, Kagael set the volume aside for leisurely reading later and moved to search for more material among the bookshelves.

"You won't find anymore there," Mogget mewed quietly.

Hopefully, Kagael turned to look at him. "You wouldn't mind telling me more about this Ulseil personage, would you?"

Mogget gazed back just as hopefully. "You wouldn't mind getting me a refill, would you?" he asked as though she hadn't said anything at all.

Kagael sighed. The old cat was being stubborn again. But she had learned that when he _was_ stubborn, you couldn't get a single word more out of him than he chose to say, so arguing, begging, and whining were all futile. Instead, she scooped up the empty and licked-clean bowl and obliged.

When Mogget was happily lapping again, Kagael set out a fresh roll of light parchment and ink and proceeded to write a letter to her mother. It had occurred to her that Lirael might've been so distracted by the urgency of the summons that she hadn't paid attention to the names mentioned in the letter. So, Kagael decided to inform her mother of what she had found out.

After she had finished the letter, Kagael realized how terribly worried she felt for her mother. She added a "P.S. Be very careful", but it seemed so stupid upon reading the letter out loud that Kagael blotted it out and wrote "I miss you; take care" instead.

Mogget watched the young woman leave to get a messagehawk with an unreadable expression on his furry face. The little cat's ears twitched, but he didn't speak until he heard Kagael's soft footsteps descending the steps.

"The threads of fate are tangled indeed," the small cat uttered in a whisper that would have been impossible for human ears to find coherent. "How are things going for you, Walker, old friend?"

---

A large black dog was lounging on the floor; its ears perked at the sound of footsteps through the locked door, coming down the hall towards the room. The dog recognized the familiar sound of its master's boots and continued to laze.

It was a sparse room—the unadorned bedchamber of one who did not spend much time in it. There was a bed at one corner; the dog sprawled beneath it.

There was a series of clicks and a hiss of marks flowing through the ensorcelled metal of the lock, then the door swung open and a young man stepped in. His garnet eyes were tired, but otherwise his face showed only annoyance. He wore dark armor with red metal plates, but the coat was hanging open to the waist and the thin, white sleeveless tunic he wore beneath was visible. The laces of the tunic were hanging loose.

The young man threw himself onto the bed where he reclined with a languid grace, glaring fiercely at the ceiling and muttering angrily under his breath.

"Now, now," came a muffled voice from under the bed, "I'm sure Commander Noegduch isn't as incorrigible as that."

The young man sat up and gave a lackadaisical laugh. "Heh. I'm sure no one's worse 'n you, bitch." It would've been biting if his tone hadn't been a fond one.

The dog wriggled out from under the bed and gazed up at her master with doleful amber eyes. "Your harsh words hurt me deeply, Gwidhe," she barked mournfully.

Gwidhe leaned over the side of the bed and scratched the dog behind her ears. "Aren't you sulky today, love," he chortled.

"Am I supposed to be in high spirits?" the dog asked, thoroughly enjoying the scratching yet intent on being exasperating. "You disappear for a week only to reappear smelling like smoke and reeling like a drunk. Then after stinking up the room for five minutes you're whisked off for chastisement and I don't see you again for two days. I'm sure that makes any dog deliriously happy."

Gwidhe's hand paused. "Noegduch confiscated my rapier, you know." He sounded resentful. "Said he'd give it back when I had 'better judgement'. The bastard."

"I'd say burning Navis to the ground was quite a lapse of judgement."

"I was set up."

"Oh. And how is that?" The dog cocked her head.

"It all started with the Clayr wench I was sent to kill."

"Mmhm. Mind explaining that?"

"The Lord Prince has spies in the Glacier, mainly to keep an eye on the sleeping entities of our kingdom that reside in their library. The Clayr's Library—"

"No need to go into that," the dog told him, "for I am well informed of many aspects of the Glacier, the library in particular. You see, I was once one of the sleeping entities you speak of, albeit not of your kingdom. I am of no one and nothing but a residue of the Beginning. Oops, I digress; go on, young master."

"Prince Sulumor has been working on waking and leashing these creatures for years," Gwidhe said. "And now his labors are proving effective. He has done all that is in his power to thwart the wakings from the visions of the Clayr, but the Sight is a powerful gift to trifle with."

"I know."

"It was known by seers in the Lord Prince's service that sooner or later, one of the stronger Clayr would See. His agents in the Glacier managed to keep her from spreading the news, destroying her letters and obliterating the words from her mouth when she tried to tell. They did everything short of physical harm to her. Finally, the Clayr knew she had to inform the Royal family. So she left in a paperwing." Gwidhe's face deepened in a scowl. "That was when I was dispatched to do away with her. I don't understand why they couldn't have killed her themselves in the Glacier."

The Dog stretched. "It is nigh on impossible to kill a Clayr within the Glacier, unless of course she actually _met_ one of the waking entities." She paused, as though remembering something. "This Clayr wasn't a Librarian by any chance?"

"I have no idea. I got rid of her before she even left the glaciers. It was somewhere sharp and dangerous, hard to find unless they conducted a careful aerial search." Gwidhe sounded rather proud. Then his eyes clouded and his voice grew troubled. "I don't...fully recall what happened next."

"You burned Navis...?" the Dog prompted.

"Yes. I know that. But I don't clearly recall what happened exactly. The citadel was above the clouds somewhere close by, following me, but Commander Noegduch didn't call me back. I decided to fly clear of the glaciers and head northeast to the sea, ditch the wing and return to base."

"But you landed at Navis and burned the place down? With Free Magic and two master Charter marks?" the Dog sounded skeptical. "You must have been possessed."

"You think?" Gwidhe was silent for a long time. "I do recall something. When I was in the fire, before I must have passed out. I thought I was Hedge. I thought I was my father. I felt like a Free Magic spirit clad in human flesh. There were...fires within me. In my eyes, my mouth, dripping from my fingertips. It was a fire that water could not have extinguished. I wasn't burning, but everything else was. At least, that's how I felt..." His voice trailed off.

"I know," the Dog said huskily.

They simply sat there for a while, him with his hand draped limply over her buzzing collar. Then the Dog's ears perked as footsteps came loudly down the hall. They belonged to a servant of the citadel. Gwidhe couldn't hear, but the Dog heard the servant report something. Moments later, a magically magnified voice belonging to the Commander boomed through the entire castle.

"**We have been summoned back to the capital by the Lord Prince Sulumor. Citadel will be departing at once. Wing Commander Gwidhe Venyeiya Ulseil report to me immediately.**"

Gwidhe got up with a moan and a string of curses.

"Tsk," said the Dog as Gwidhe straightened and fastened the coat of his uniform armor. "With an attitude like that, young man, don't be expecting your sword back anytime soon."

Gwidhe ignored her. He stepped out of the room and slammed the door.

---

Kagael had a dream that night, and it was vividly real.

She was locked in mortal combat with a fire demon. The creature was much like the way Hedge was described in the book and wielded a sword that was a tongue of flame. Kagael felt slightly departed from her dream-self, yet at the same time she was caught up in the vision.

Sparks flew as her Charter-spelled sword met the flaming one of her opponent. Kagael had never been in a real fight before; her mother and her cousin Prince Sameth were the ones who had taught her to use a sword. Other than practice, there had only been friendly sparring with her cousin and her brother. In the dream it grew increasingly hard for her to catch her breath. The demon's blows were deliberate and measured. He seemed to be delivering them methodically, keeping up a steady rain of strokes without any intention of defeating her.

Kagael didn't know why she felt so afraid.

To her horror she noticed that the marks on her blade were sputtering and going out. She struggled to find them again, to pull them out of the Charter and cast them in the metal. But the marks that flew from her fingers dissipated before they reached the sword.

Frantic, Kagael called out more marks, drew them in the air, cast them, but they were all useless. There were only two dim marks left on her sword, near the hilt. Then even they were gone.

Her blade broke as the demon's struck again. The shards of metal rained in all directions and Kagael threw up her arms to shield her face.

She felt nothing.

In her dream, she lowered her arms, slowly, tentatively. Someone was before her, and it was not her attacker.

It was a large black dog. Kibeth, from the Dark Mirror! Except this Kibeth had wings—large, black feathery wings the sprouted from her shoulders.

Kagael remembered her mother searching for the soapstone figure, and blurted out, perhaps by accident, "Where are you? Mother can't find you anywhere! Are you going to come back?"

The Dog's large amber eyes were sad. "She should know," Kibeth replied huskily, "My time with her has passed."

Kagael felt an infinite sadness, though whether it was from without or within she could not tell.

"The threads of fate are tangled indeed," the Dog continued, her voice and body growing dimmer and more distant as she spoke. "Someone must have found their way to where the Fates conspire...someone...set...those threads...on fire..."

"What?" Kagael called after the Dog. But there was no one there.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Author's Note: Next chapter, Torrigan (Touchstone) former king of the Old Kingdom pays the Emperor of Orkaire a visit. I know I promised that this wouldn't be a boring chapter, but there was so much explaining to do I couldn't help it. Let's keep hoping the next installment won't be so tedious...

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HOWEVER there shan't be another chapter unless I receive at _least_ three new reviews. :D Evil and demanding, aren't I?


	4. Three: Meetings and Less Fortunate Encou...

**FIRST OF ALL**- I **apologize** for taking so **long**, but as you'll soon see—this is a **Long** Chapter, **lots** happening. So, hopefully you won't be **disappointed**. Don't be deceived by the 'breakfast scene' (you'll see what I mean) or the 'lunch scene', this chapter is where the story **Really** Kicks Off.

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And now…

for the DISCLAIMER: "Abhorsen", all names, places, and related indicia are the sole property of Garth Nix, whose work I hold in great admiration. By the way, has anyone noticed that in the trilogy, everyone who meets the Dog bends down and hugs her? I just thought I'd mention it...dunno why.

Also, you'll find quite a bit of influence in here from Dianne Wynne Jones's Howl's Moving Castle and Castle in the Air. I just thought that it'd be an awfully nifty addition to my fic if Orkaire had powerful sorcerers in the military that could command moving castles! (The inspiration comes from Ms. Jones--don't sue! Besides, how much money could you get out of a 13-yr-old?)

* * *

CHAPTER THREE: Meetings and Less Fortunate Encounters

Kagael was even more noticeably blank at breakfast the following morning. Nicholas was quite taken aback when she asked him a question.

"Daddy, did you know the Disreputable Dog?"

"Well, er," Nicholas paused, "We've met, if that's what you mean."

Kagael sighed. "Not like that."

"Your mother's the only one who knew the Dog very well—"

"Mum never talks about her."

"—and there's always the cat."

"Haha, Dad." Kagael ate a mouthful of porridge.

Daniel finished his breakfast first. He got up and pushed in his chair as a sending came and cleared away his dishes. The sendings were conspicuously livelier now that the mistress of the house was absent. Having been brought up at the Clayr's glacier where the tradition was that everyone did the work, taking turns, Lirael had retired about fifty of the more senile sendings at Abhorsen's House. When Goldenhand was in, the sendings were rather subdued, but when she was gone they resumed their usual bustling state, doing every job they could lay their hands on. Nicholas and the kids were generally happy for a chance to laze.

Daniel turned to Kagael. "Say, Kagy, Dad and I are going fishing down by Yezael's today. Do you want to come?"

Kagael downed her glass of juice as she thought it over. Her mood had been a strangely edgy one ever since her mother had flown for Navis, and a fishing trip with her father and brother seemed like it might take her mind off things.

"Fresh fish sounds marvelous," mewed a voice from beneath the table. "I'm in the particular mood for some wriggly, gleaming dace."

Kagael made a face at the Mogget. "Alright," she told her brother.

And Nicholas got his second surprise of the week.

---

Gwidhe Ulseil watched with a bemused expression as the citadel lifted up and disappeared into the clouds. "Bastards," he growled after the fading shadow of the castle.

"Look at it from the bright side; at least I'm here with you," the Dog said cheerily. "Getting left behind isn't so bad that way!"

Gwidhe ignored her. Walking further into Great Sickle Wood, he tossed his sack down against a tree and dropped down beside it. The Dog trotted up after him.

"I don't suppose this is punishment for burning Na—"

"No." Gwidhe's voice was dark with suppressed anger. He pulled a bowstring out from his beltpouch. "Damn Noegduch, he didn't even give me back my rapier." He set the bowstaff upright on the ground, held it steady with a booted foot, and strung his bow in a single deliberate motion that echoed the anger in his voice.

The Dog cocked her head at her master, who was crossly rubbing beeswax onto his bowstring. "Would you mind filling me in, please? I am, to say the least, confused."

Gwidhe did. "When I reported to the General, he _explained_ everything to me. They were fiddling with my Saraneth implant again when I burned Navis. It's a lure for the Abhorsen, Goldenhand, or whatever they call her."

The Dog's eyes darkened.

"He said he was keeping my rapier anyway, damn him. The Citadel is heading back because some big-shot is seeing Emperor Semur shortly and he needs a proper welcome. Noegduch says I'm supposed to meet someone in Qyrre a couple of days. Then he dismissed me. Obviously he's making the most of tormenting me, seeing as this _is_ my last year."

The Dog didn't comment on this. Something caught her eye, however, and she loped off ahead, towards the riverbank.

"What is it?" Gwidhe followed the Dog.

Clear of the trees, Gwidhe could see what had caught the Dog's attention. A speck was moving quickly across the sky. Soon, its shape became visible to them.

"Messagehawk," the Dog woofed dismissively. She turned away and began heading back into the woods. Gwidhe did not leave, still watching the hawk. An unpleasant tinge appeared in the hue of his eyes. The Dog paused at the edge of the trees and looked back at her master.

The unfortunate bird fell from the sky, pierced through the breast by an arrow.

"Now, you had no call to go and shoot the poor thing," the Dog barked disapprovingly. "I know you're angry, but—"

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?" Gwidhe cut her off.

"Well, you...do, constantly."

"Good. Just so you know." Gwidhe walked a little ways up the bank to where the messagehawk had fallen. He crouched down by the dead bird and pried its talons from around a thin scroll. He stood, fingering the seal, and headed back to where he'd left his pack.

"It's from Abhorsen's House," he said to the Dog, who was once again focused on the sky. Gwidhe left studying the seal and looked where the Dog was looking. Another messagehawk came flying, this time heading in the opposite direction.

"Don't even think about it," growled the Dog.

Gwidhe leered. "I'm not, you big softie. I'm off to hunt for today's meals. Chase some rabbits or something."

Gwidhe returned with two rabbits. The Dog was gnawing on a lizard. Gwidhe slung the results of his brief hunt onto the ground and started a small, smokeless fire. Skinning one of the two rabbits with his long belt knife, he roasted it over the fire.

As his lunch cooked, Gwidhe opened the scroll. At first he scanned it with a bored expression, then he laughed. "Isn't this sweet," he chuckled. "Goldenhand has a daughter and she's writing her mother all about my dad!"

The Dog woofed nonchalantly and gulped down the last of the lizard.

"I suppose this 'Kagael' is the wench I have to nab. Ah, rabbit's done."

"I'd like some, too," the Dog said, wagging her tail excitedly.

"You ate."

"A lizard. A measly little thing like that is hardly enough to fill my stomach."

"You mean your bottomless pit." But Gwidhe carved off a generous portion from the second rabbit and tossed it to his hound. She snapped it up in her powerful jaws and proceeded to tear into it.

"Ank hoo," she said appreciatively.

---

Torrigan, once called King Touchstone, adjusted his wide tunic and belted it just so with a broad and stiff but not uncomfortable sash. The Orkairens were nothing like the Ancelstierrens, he mused, practically polar opposites, in fact. In this case, Touchstone was rather glad of it. The Orkairen Emperor's basic standard of formality was that an individual dressed in whatever one found to one's liking. Touchstone still found it necessary to adopt ceremonial Orkairen court attire, if only for courtesy.

In the time he had been here, Touchstone had been treated with apt consideration. The Orkairens had a strange attitude towards magic. Touchstone still could not sort out whether they held the idea in high respect or that they feared the thing. When addressing him, people here seemed to either avert their eyes from the mark on his forehead or find difficulty not to stare at it.

A knock and a quiet voice came from the door of his spacious chambers. "Lord Torrigan." Touchstone went to answer it.

The servant bowed low as the door opened. "His Excellency Semur will speak with you over his noontime meal. If you would please to follow me?"

"Of course."

Touchstone admired the simple but captivating artistry in the designs engraved and embossed in the various metals that made up the hallway walls. The floor underfoot was uncarpeted stone, smooth and dark as obsidian. Touchstone wondered fleetingly what sort of stone it was; he could see his reflection in the floor, yet did not find it slippery in the least.

The servant slowed as they approached a room with tall, plain doors that were shut. He knocked thrice on the door. A light voice said, "Enter." The servant turned and bowed to Touchstone. "The Emperor awaits you within, Lord Torrigan. Enjoy your meal." He held the door open.

"Thank you," Touchstone said, nodding. He stepped inside the room.

The room was spacious and quite likely the private dining room where the Emperor took his meals. There was a table of dark wood and a number of men seated around it. The Emperor himself was seated at the far end, facing the door.

Touchstone had seen Emperor Semur in person only once before. It had been several years ago when Semur was first crowned. At that time Touchstone had not passed his reign on to Ellimere yet. The Emperor had been little more than a boy then. He'd grown into a man now, certainly. He had thin, darkly serious brows that looked as though they could have been penciled. His lengthy black hair shone under the bright glow of the hanging lights, braided loosely and decorated with a scattering of gems. Semur wore an uncomplicated traditional long tunic of sable and indigo; the dark colors accentuating his honey skin. A light crown of silver and bluestone rested in his rich locks.

"Welcome, Lord Torrigan of the Old Kingdom," the Emperor intoned in a pleasant tenor. "Please, seat yourself."

"Emperor Semur." Touchstone bowed slightly, then sat down at the end of the table facing the Emperor.

Semur indicated the man sitting to his right. "Lord Torrigan, this is Prince Sulumor, my elder brother."

Sulumor was clearly several years older than Semur. His hair was a paler shade of his brother's, bordering on blue rather than gray—this was not uncommon among Orkairens. His eyes were the color of grape wine and his eyebrows of the same thin, pencilled quality as Semur's. He wore a handsome, high-collared coat of black and forest green and his skin was also a great deal paler than his brother's was. A simple circlet of unadorned silver rested on his brow. "A pleasure, Lord Torrigan," he spoke. "I have heard many admirable things of you, also that you are an accomplished mage of the Charter magic."

"I'm sure half of those things were blown up beyond proportion," Touchstone said lightly. "The pleasure is mine."

"And this," Semur continued, gesturing towards the aged, venerable-looking man seated beside his brother, "is my trusted advisor, Vogsako."

Vogsako had few black strands in his otherwise snow-white beard. He nodded deeply towards Touchstone. "An honor, Lord Torrigan. I hear you have lived for nigh on thirteen score years."

Touchstone chuckled. "I didn't quite live most of those years; I was a wooden figurehead for two hundred of them."

Vogsako's still-black brows crept up his tall forehead as Semur laughed lightly and Sulumor sketched a smile.

"This is Captain Sidhegureth Ulseil," Semur nodded towards the stunning young man seated across from Vogsako. He pronounced the name, which was distinctly archaic Orkairen, "sih-gu-reth".

The Captain's amethyst eyes shone as he smiled at Touchstone. "Delighted, my lord."

Semur pointed to the empty seat on the Captain's left. "General Noegduch will join us shortly. His castle only just arrived back at the capital this morning. He says not to wait for him, so…"

Charter sendings materialized from the walls and the hanging tapestries bearing dishes, bowls and platters. They had barely begun to eat when three light knocks on the door announced the arrival of the General.

General Noegduch was a tall, even imposing man. He had a bristling brown mustache, a stern, unsmiling sort of face, and very broad shoulders. The uniform he wore only made him seem more formidable. Standing before the doors, he went down on one knee, greeting his Emperor and apologizing for his delay. He then straightened and bowed to Touchstone with a sonorous "Lord Torrigan, this is an honor."

The Emperor, the Prince, and Touchstone all nodded their acknowledgement. Vogsako intoned a "Pleased you could join us, sir" while the comely young Captain Sidhegureth saluted his superior.

Conversation began in a trickle with the Emperor inquiring of the General how the patrols had gone and if the weather was all right along the east coast of Orkaire. Noegduch replied that all had gone well and that the fishing was starting early this season because of the pleasant weather. Then the Emperor asked Touchstone about his family, to which Touchstone replied that they were quite well, thank you.

It was Vogsako who brought the conversation around to the more grave aspects of the week. "I understand, Lord Torrigan, that you have joined us here in the capital to discuss the truly regrettable fate that had befallen your northern outpost, Navis."

"Yes," Touchstone agreed. "I was hoping that Your Excellency may know something of it that would avail my country?"

Emperor Semur's open and honest face showed true concern and sadness. "I'm sorry, but I only know what I have heard."

"And what have you heard?"

"That the settlement was razed, by fire? Yes, and that the population had fled to the surrounding woods and fields. Reports also say that none of the mage soldiers were alive."

"That is so."

"And finally that this fire's suspected cause is…magic?"

"And that also."

Emperor Semur sighed. "I do not know of more to tell you, my friend. Our countries have been allies since you ascended the throne, and you and your Sabriel have done much to help me in my earlier years in this position. I will do all I can to help with reconstruction and medical needs. I only wish I could do more."

"You realize I sought this audience with you because of the survivors' reports, Your Majesty?" Touchstone persisted, "The name of 'Orkaire' was mentioned by this man."

"Is that really so?" Emperor Semur looked genuinely surprised. "I wonder how that could have been…?"

"There is more," Touchstone continued. "I do not wish to point any fingers—" he pointedly avoided looking at the young Captain seated on his left, "—but also mentioned was the name 'Ulseil'."

"'Ulseil'," Prince Sulumor repeated. "Strange. This mention of mage-fire, Orkaire, and the name seem to have little connection. Our Captain Sidhegureth, you see, has not been dispatched all season. Nor does he have any mages under his command."

"My father was a sorcerer," Sidhegureth supplied willingly, looking angelic with the light bouncing off his long golden locks. "Of course, he died a number of years ago, and good riddance."

"Do you not think that this incident could perhaps have been the act of a soldier mage gone astray?" Touchstone suggested lightly.

"That is out of the question," General Noegduch boomed indignantly. "And what do you imply by this phrasing of 'gone astray'?"

"Please, sir," Vogsako said in a placating tone. Then to Touchstone, "Our military code is very strict, and the punishments…far less than desirable. What the General means is that no soldier, in whatever condition, would even consider such a horrendous act. Besides, did you not say this fire was magic-induced?"

"All the signs show it to be so," Touchstone replied. Then after a pause, he ventured, "Does Orkaire not have Battle Mages? Highly skilled individuals specializing in war magic?"

"We have eleven at the time," Vogsako answered, "and they are all holed up at the academy. Most of our mages are, as Orkaire does not frequent magecraft like the Old Kingdom does."

"No indeed." This was Prince Sulumor.

"The Charter magic around the palace has been here for four hundred years," Emperor Semur added, sounding stressed. "The royal family…is not encouraging of magic, other than the conveniences we have already been provided with."

"I see," Touchstone said. "Yet Free Magic is not outlawed here…?"

"It has never been," Prince Sulumor told him. "The mages at the academy are working on interlacing this magic with technology, as Charter magic is not compatible. So far, our mages have made little progress, but they seem to enjoy…tinkering away. A harmless pastime, you could say."

So the meal dragged on with Touchstone getting little answers out of the men. He wondered briefly if they were all cleverly evading him, but it did not seem likely. The Emperor was truly earnest, and the General's open indignation belied any sign of wile. The young Captain seemed no more than a court decoration, Vogsako being entirely factual and having no opinion, while the Prince plainly thought himself to be the most knowledgeable one present.

"I wish there was more I could do," Emperor Semur sighed again as the final course was being cleared away.

"Brother," Sulumor interrupted, "do not stress yourself. I propose an investigation on this matter—"

"The Abhorsens of my kingdom are doing so as we speak," Touchstone informed him.

"Good then. I wish you all success," Sulumor said with a kind smile.

Captain Sidhegureth then proposed a toast, which went around before the meal finally ended.

Touchstone left, comfortably full in the stomach, yet feeling as though there was much he did not know. Ironically, it did not seem like any more could be found out with the young Emperor and his men.

A servant guided Touchstone to a spacious palace garden for some fresh air. Vogsako was there as well, strolling. The day was a bright clear one. When a dark cloud mass glided by overhead, Touchstone looked up abruptly. This sort of thing had happened twice before since he'd arrived at Orkaire, and Touchstone was very curious as to what exactly it was.

As though reading his thoughts, the old advisor looked his way, saying, "Another castle departing."

"Castle?" Touchstone was more than a little confused. "What are those clouds?"

"Not clouds," Vogsako corrected him, "Levitation magic. It does resemble clouds, does it not? Above the spells is born a citadel. This method of…transport was developed by our mages at the academy."

"I see," Touchstone said, awed but still puzzled.

"It is rather old," Vogsako continued, "created in my grandfather's time."

Touchstone had a sudden thought. "My dear Vogsako, do you think I might be able to visit this academy?"

The advisor was silent, and for a moment Touchstone could see only his back. Then the old man turned, looking quite pleased. "Why of course, Lord Torrigan. I don't see why that should be a problem."

---

Kagael was rowing up the River Ratterlin.

__

Sameth had arrived before the messagehawk in a paperwing bearing the crest of the Royal Family. Kagael, her father and brother had been down at the fishing tower. When they came to the paperwing platform they had thought it was a pleasant surprise; cousin Sameth was here to visit!

The world was so full of cruel irony.

Kagael still could not believe it. Actually, she could, but she didn't want to.

__

"Mother's…what?"

"I'm sorry, Kagy. We had the Guard searching everywhere. She simply couldn't be found. Same for M-mo…same for Lady Sabriel."

Nicholas was talking to Sameth now, their voices became like a low buzz to Kagael's ears. Daniel put an arm around his sister's shoulders.

"I wanted to get here and tell you in person…thought it'd be better than just receiving a messagehawk from Ell. She sent one anyway…" Sameth was saying.

When the messagehawk came, Nicholas had read the letter, then passed it to Kagael. Kagael had ripped it to pieces.

__

"Now you're acting like a brat!" Daniel shouted at her.

Kagael let go the paddles, leaned back, and muttered a chain of marks to keep the boat going. She'd needed to work out her frustration.

__

Kagael ran into the house. It seemed so empty. She ran all the way up to the east roof garden. From there she could see the great fig tree and the rose garden and the well. Lirael loved the old rose garden. She'd always sit atop the old well while gardener sendings looked after the flowers.

"Where are you, Mother? Did you not get my message? Were you being careful? Where are you?"

Kagael went to her room to pack. She packed lightly, just a couple changes of clothes and about two days' food. She went back to the small docking area behind the house.

Mogget had been there, sitting on the wooden planking, cleaning his paws.

"Are you going to try and stop me?"

The cat looked up, clearly amused. "And what would be the point? You're not my responsibility."

Kagael dragged her boat over to the shallows and tied it securely under some protectively overhanging trees and walked the rest of the way to Qyrre. She did not feel like paying the man at the parking bay.

She'd been here several times before. Shopping, with her mother. Kagael walked past the stores and eateries and the stalls of an outdoor market to a familiar inn. It was called The Roost of the Ghostbird after the old folktale, but was bright and friendly as opposed to its name.

Kagael paid for one night's lodging. She would leave tomorrow, she decided. She decided against sailing to Chasel, deciding to camp out, then head for High Bridge. Lirael had friends there. Going to her room, Kagael sighed and laid back on the bed. Closing her eyes she proceeded to brood, mentally plotting out her journey to Navis.

After a while she sat up and headed down to the common room, then to the small library/reading room through the door on the left. The room looked empty. Kagael entered and sat down on a comfortably cushioned chair near the center of the library and picked up a book lying open and facedown on the small desk beside it.

__

The Two Towers by JRR Tolkien. what're y'all waitin' for? laugh! laugh!

A small movement from near the shelf, by the windows made Kagael look up. A tall, youngish looking man with dark russet hair emerged. He didn't look surprised to see Kagael. He nodded at her, smiling, and bid her good day. Kagael found his deep eyes framed by very long dark lashes slightly unsettling. Then he left the room. Kagael paused a moment, looking at the closed door, confused. Then she shrugged and began to read.

---

Gwidhe checked his reflection briefly in a pool of water. A pale, comely young man looked back at him with bold, garnet eyes. Gwidhe touched his Charter mark and it flared slightly. No trace of Free Magic? Good. He brushed back his bangs, which were longish while the rest of his silvery-pale hair was relatively short. He was wearing a nondescript white shirt, a light bluish tunic, and equally nondescript loose, black trousers.

"Is Narcissus done admiring himself?"

Gwidhe whirled. His Dog wasn't there anymore, instead, a familiar green figurine lay partially obscured by the grass. The speaker was a young man, the tall, dark and handsome sort with a prominent nose and impressive eyes.

"Mihir," Gwidhe said, a tad uncertain but with obvious relief. He walked over, squatting down and retrieving the Dog statuette as he went. He popped it into his trousers' wide pocket.

"Right," the young man smiled. Then the reserved smile broadened into an open grin. Mihir came over and enveloped Gwidhe in his long arms, pounding his back hard enough to make him cough. "Dammit, Gwidhe, but it sure is great to see you! What's it been, four years now?"

"Three, actually," Gwidhe coughed, stumbling back. "Hardly long enough for you to have an excuse to murder me with your joyful greetings. Burn you, Mihir—you don't know your own strength."

Mihir was still exuberant. "I haven't seen you since they made you Wing Commander. How's it like? Fun? Arduous?"

"Hardly fun," Gwidhe grunted.

"You have no idea how disgustingly pointless making swords has been," Mihir told him. "At least I'm not just an apprentice anymore, but I still get yelled at half the time. Bet it's totally the opposite for you."

"Opposite? What's the opposite of being a swordsmith?"

"No, I mean, don't they all bow and scrape to you all the time?"

"That's when you're a Battle Mage, Mihir, and everyone's scared as hell of you."

Mihir paused, then asked, "Say, you still have that rapier I made for you? Did you Charter-spell it like you said you would?"

"Yeah, I spelled it," Gwidhe said.

"You sound pissed," Mihir observed.

"I am. Noegduch confiscated it, but you probably know that, right?"

"No, actually, I didn't See."

"Speaking of which," Gwidhe said, reminding Mihir, "You came to see me, which means the time's right."

The air of exuberance left the young swordsmith, replaced by that of his earlier impression. Not quite serious as…unsettling? "Yeah. I saw her in the reading room at the Ghostbird. Kagael Abhorsen."

"You sure?"

"Why do you even need to ask, Gwidhe? Of course I'm sure. We'll capture her tonight and head north and east through the Great Sickle. She doesn't look like the sort who'd put up a fight—it should be easy."

"Fine. You stalk her. I'll do the snatching."

Mihir nodded, meeting his slightly shorter companion's eyes. "It's good to be working together again," he said seriously.

"Fantastic," Gwidhe told him, "'cos according to the Lord Prince, we'll be doing plenty more of that in the future."

---

Kagael usually wasn't observant when it came to people, but a pair of guests at the Roost of the Ghostbird certainly caught her eye at suppertime. One of them was the young man from the reading room earlier, but he wasn't who'd caught her eye, it was his companion. Also a young man about his age, he was especially striking in appearance. Dressed in simple clothing of blue, white, and black that was particularly becoming of his hair, he'd also managed to catch the eyes of a handful of other young women at the inn.

Normally, when she was in a good mood, Kagael might've gone over and said hi. But she wasn't, so she just sat, picked at her meal, and brooded. Occasionally, she glanced over at the young men's table. The dark one from the library looked to be all smiles and politeness while his pale companion's face appeared so stoical Kagael was sure he was making a tremendous effort.

Kagael finished eating and stood as a maid cleared away the dishes. Kagael thanked her and left a tip. She turned to go, chancing one last glimpse back towards the table where the two men sat.

Her eyes passed over the silvery-haired one's forehead and the Charter mark there, then their eyes met—for barely a second, but for some reason Kagael felt that she should be afraid.

Kagael walked along a small stream in the nightfall, just beyond the innyard, close to the edge of the Great Sickle Wood. She wondered how things were back at the house. Certainly they'd have noticed by now that she was gone. Had Mogget told? It was not as though he needed to—anyone could have noticed the missing boat and deduced that she'd sailed off to…to… They probably all thought she'd just gone off to vent a little anger, and so they would not come after her. In a day or two, when she did not return, they would come looking for her. But for now…

Kagael sighed. Had they had supper yet? Sameth would most likely stay for the rest of the day. How was Daniel? Most likely her little brother was still fuming at her, thinking she was being selfish. And was she?

No, Kagael thought firmly. She was going to find her mother. She was.

The moon had risen, barely a sliver of gold in the star-strewn night sky. Feeling as though she needed a little cheer, Kagael tried a trick she'd discovered by accident while practicing her spells once.

Holding the image of the thin moon in her mind, she reached into the Charter. Instead of calling forth marks, she called forth a pure ribbon of gold light. She lifted her left hand and drew in the air in front of her. A perfect replica of the moon in the sky appeared, suspended before her face. Kagael smiled, adding a few stars on whim.

"Could you tell me how that's done?"

Kagael jumped at the soft voice. Turning, she found herself looking at the fair-haired young man from the inn. He was smiling. Kagael found herself catching her breath.

"I-I'm not quite sure I could teach you. You're a Charter Mage?" Oh what a damn, damn stupid question to ask; of course he was a mage! He had the mark! "Oh, I see your mark. How silly of me."

As Kagael's attention wavered, her little creations faded and trickled back to the Charter.

"That's too bad," he said uncaringly.

The young man raised his left hand toward the evaporating Charter entities as though he might catch them in his fingers. And looking at his fingers, Kagael realized, sort of…but then it was too late.

"Oh…!"

Kagael couldn't do anything as the spell took hold of her. And by the Charter, it was strong! She struggled even as she plunged toward darkness, trying to conjure marks of unraveling and knocking away, but the marks devolved and paled like smoke, like the marks in her dream.

And…Kagael was…struggling, fighting for breath, bewildered…lost.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Author's Note: There! This chapter wasn't _too_ boring, was it? Ok, so maybe it was…I'm a slow starter, alriiiighhht?! Plus, this is my first fic!!

Next chapter, Kagael is in the clutches of the enemy! How will she fare? Will cousin Sameth get it through his thick hair that she's missing and call up a search? Stick around and be patient with me, and perhaps you shall find out.

Once again, there shall not be a new chapter **UNLESS** I receive at _least_ one new review. (Sorry, but I'm one of those writers who cannot keep going without..._reviewers!_ )

****

Oh! One more thing!!! In your review, **please** let me know which of the following ought I to call Sidhegureth's ship— (1) the _Eule Kreuzzug_ (2) the _Lechuza Cruzada_ or (3) the _Hibou Croisade_. Thanks a lot!


	5. Four: Assessing the Situation

'Tis I, the fangirl-writer, Answering Questions. Wow…gotta put this down as a Moment in History…

Ok, I have **decided** that the **pronunciation** of 'Gwidhe' shall be "gwee-ay". **Objections**? Put it in your **review**. And if you're just going to say, "It sounds **stoooopid**", don't bother cuz I **know**..

Now, why is the Dog with a guy who is 'obviously' a **villain**? Ah—do not be so **quick** to judge nor to jump to **conclusions**. Kibby (that's what I call **Kibeth**, got it?) **cannot** always **choose** her master/mistress, but I assure you, fickle Dame Fortune had a sound reason for placing her with Gwidhe. She's got a part to play, Kibby does…

And **finally**, for any out there who actually had the…whatever to **wonder** what the heck those **strange** choices for Sidhe's ship's names meant—it's "owl crusade" in German, Spanish, and French…not exactly accurate either…heh. The name that seemed most popular is (2) _Lechuza Cruzada_. Personally, it's my favorite as well because it sounds the most like Sidhegureth anyway.

And Now For the **Pointless**…DISCLAIMER: "Abhorsen", all names, places, and related indicia are the sole property of Garth Nix, whose work I hold in great admiration…. But GWIDHE IS MINE! MINE! YOU CAN'T HAVE HIM! I'M NOT EVEN GIVING HIM TO KAGAEL!! (Sorry, please don't run away; I'm usually not so scary…I just get…possessive.)

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR: Assessing the Situation

Gwidhe watched the girl crumple in a heap and relinquished the Charter. He knew he ought to cast a master mark for a spell like that, but it was so much more exhilarating to hang on and let the heat of the magic course through him.

"Smooth," Mihir commented tritely from the shadows.

Gwidhe turned, a satisfied smirk on his face. "That was easy. Who's to carry her?"

"_You_ can."

"I _can_. But you _will_."

"Aw, c'mon, Gwidhe…"

"You will, Mihir, because the Wing Commander of Orkaire's Citadel Fleet commands you to."

"Ah, but you can't pull rank with me because I'm not a soldier under you," Mihir evaded smoothly. "But I'll do it anyway," he added quickly as Gwidhe glared.

"No need to bicker, boys, I'll carry the poor child," declared a slightly muffled voice from the pocket of Gwidhe's trousers.

Mihir started. "What—"

The Dog finally! I'll capitalize 'Dog' now because it seems we all know who she is poked her head out of the pocket and quickly wriggled the rest of the way out.

"Erm…I'm not even going to ask," Mihir said.

Kagael didn't quite 'wake up', nor did she exactly 'come to'. There was simply the stifling dark and nothingness, then a sudden sensation of unraveling, and she was free.

Well, not entirely.

Cold ropes swimming with Charter marks bound her hands and wrapped up her legs. Kagael was propped up against a tree; she couldn't turn around and look at it, but she could feel the rough bark through her clothes and look up to see the sunlight struggling through its thick leaves.

The Charter ropes were tight—constraining, but not painful. Stubbornly, Kagael reached for the Charter, seeking the most powerful marks of breaking and unraveling she knew of. It felt like she hit a shield; she even felt a spiritual sort of 'thump'. The next sensation was not unlike stepping into a pitfall, and almost instantly, the Charter seemed to go out.

For a moment, Kagael nearly panicked. Her mother had described a feeling like this once—down the ancient well in the rose garden, when it seemed the Charter was 'gone'. Then she realized that the Charter was there—she was merely blocked from it—and emitted a sigh of relief.

"She's awake," said a low voice and Kagael uttered a small gasp. The tall, dark-haired young man from the inn came around the tree.

"I know," replied a pubescent male voice that was all-too-familiar. "I felt her fall into my little trap."

The silvery-haired young man's pretty face came into view and Kagael tasted bitterness rising up in her throat. He was wearing some sort of snug-looking leather armor and a smile that struck her as more than a touch haughty.

"Good morning, Lady Kagael," he said in a sugary voice. "I hope my pitfall didn't frighten you. You're quite a strong mage—I spent all night weaving the shield spell. I might teach it to you someday if you show me your neat little trick with the moon and stars."

"How do you know my name?"

"I Saw it, along with you," the dark-haired young man provided readily. "My name's Mihir. I'm a Seer and a swordsmith. My friend here is Gwidhe. We really don't mean you harm, so let's not be so hasty and get off to a bad start, alright?"

Kagael glared at him. "What do you want with me, then, and why am I tied up?"

"Well, _we_ don't want anything with you—we're to take you somewhere," Mihir answered rather vaguely. "As for the ropes, well, Gwidhe, shouldn't we untie her now?"

"Fine."

Kagael tipped forward as the ropes evaporated. She steadied herself against the tree for a brief moment, then launched herself at Mihir. He grabbed at her, but she ducked. He swiped again, catching her arm, but she twisted and flung him behind her in a single quick motion like Prince Sameth had shown her when she was eight. Not looking back, Kagael dashed toward the trees. Mihir wasn't very fast, which surprised her, but of course she didn't mind.

She never made it. Stars exploded in her vision as she toppled, darkness claiming her.

This time we can say that Kagael 'came to'.

"You _still_ shouldn't have hit her so hard," Mihir's voice was saying in a disapproving tone.

"That was not hard. You've pounded me harder," growled Gwidhe's voice. "Besides, it was _your_ stupid idea to let the little bitch outta the ropes, else I wouldn't have had to hit her.

"What's the big deal, Gwidhe," Mihir sighed.

Kagael smelled stew cooking and her stomach rumbled. She opened her eyes.

Gwidhe abruptly stood, grabbing his bow, and went off angrily into trees, muttering.

"Sure," Mihir called after him, "but I'm getting tired of rabbit."

Kagael was bound in Charter ropes again, just tight enough to keep her from getting up from her sitting position. Mihir had started a small, smokeless fire in the middle of the clearing and was cooking something in a smallish pot.

Mihir looked up as she stirred. And dammit, the man was smiling at her as though he hadn't tried to cut off her escape a little bit before. "You're awake. How're you feeling? Does your head hurt?"

"No," she muttered halfheartedly.

"Oh, good. So maybe he didn't hit you _that_ hard after all. Gwidhe, I mean. He could've stopped you right from the start; I'll bet he just wanted me to fumble about like a fool before he made his move," Mihir chuckled. "But Gwidhe's not all bad," he was quick to reassure her, "He's quite a fellow if you get to know him."

"Sure."

"Are you hungry? I mean, you have to be, right? This is lunch already." Kagael couldn't help it—Mihir's insufferable grin and good humor reminded her of Daniel. She nodded.

"I'm sorry about this," he continued, "You're definitely not enjoying it."

Kagael shrugged. For some reason, Mihir's concern had improved her mood a great deal. "You're not that fast," she ventured. "I'd thought you'd have caught me right away."

"No I'm not," Mihir admitted sheepishly. "Gwidhe's the speedy one. I'm just a swordsmith. He's a so—he's a warrior."

"Ah. I can imagine. So you stand around pounding slabs of metal all day in an intensely hot room?"

"Well, no. That's someone else's job. I'm more of a craftsman." Mihir sprinkled a couple of pinches of something into the stew he was making and stirred it several times. "You live at the Abhorsen's House, right?" he asked.

That was out of the blue, Kagael thought. Why would he ask? Was it curiosity? Was he some sort of spy, seeking information out of her? Well, they obviously already knew who she was. Kagael weighed the odds, and made do with a slight nod.

"How's it like?"

"Boring," she replied quite frankly. See how much he could get out of _that_. "Where're you from?" she shot back.

"Around," he answered with an irritating smile that said 'see how much _you_ can get out of that'. "Why don't you tell me a bit about your life?"

__

The key to being effectively boring, Lirael had once told her daughter, _is to tell everything that doesn't matter_.

"I practically grew up at the capital," Kagael informed him. "The weather's fairly pleasant year round, you know, because of the sea. Have you ever been to Ilgard? I use to take trips there fairly often before I moved back to Abhorsen's house. Ilgard's an awfully nice place in the summer—lots of nice beaches and swimming areas. Do you know how to swim? Daddy taught me when I was six years old. I haven't swum in quite a while, now that I think of it; I mean, the Ratterlin's hardly a safe place to swim—"

"Erm, Kagael?"

"—But I can always go boating. It's especially fun in the—"

"Kagael!"

"—summertime. Yes?"

Mihir studied her over the cookpot. "You're being exasperatingly and randomly talkative on purpose. I can tell. Now please, I would rather you just shut—"

"That's fine. I know plenty of people who can't stand randomness. I can understand. It's quite—"

"Stop…being random!"

Kagael couldn't help it; she was enjoying this. "Oh, then would you rather I flirt?"

"No—"

"Or recite poetry? I have several lovely pieces in mind. My favorite at the moment is from a knight to his princess—"

"No! No poetry—"

"I could sing—"

"I'm begging you, now."

"Perhaps if you tell me exactly what's going on—"

"You two sound like the biggest damn idiots on earth," growled Gwidhe's voice as he emerged from the trees. "Shut up, Kagael, or I'll hit you."

Kagael shut up.

Gwidhe had his bow in one hand and carried a fat pheasant in the other. He tossed it down by Mihir, who flinched slightly away before smoothly recovering by congratulating his friend on the hunt.

The stew seemed to be pretty much done. Kagael's ropes vanished as Mihir handed her a spoon.

"We, er, don't have any bowls so, er, you'll just have to, you know, eat from the pot," he said rather apologetically. "Hope that's alright with you."

Kagael would've liked to say no, that there was no way she would eat out of the same vessel as Gwidhe. But at the moment he frightened her too much.

"If it's not alright with her she can just starve for all I care," Gwidhe stated in a rather unforgiving tone.

Kagael bit back a response and plunged her spoon into the stew. She swallowed the mouthful, which was still rather hot. "This is really good," she told an expectant Mihir. "You cook often?"

"It's a hobby," Mihir replied, sounding rather pleased. "I enjoy working with things that are potentially edible." Then to Gwidhe, who was pointedly ignoring them: "How's the stew?"

"Delicious, as usual. Do you really need to ask?"

"No need to be like that, Gwidhe," Mihir said, grinning, "You know everyone loves compliments from Sir Ulseil."

Kagael choked.

"What's the matter?" Mihir asked.

"Nothing," Kagael said quickly. "Piece of tuber…tried to swallow it…didn't quite chew it enough…" _Ulseil?_ screamed a voice inside her mind. _As in _Hedge_ Ulseil? Wasn't Mihir talking about Gwidhe?_

They finished the stew fairly quickly; both Mihir (especially Mihir) and Gwidhe ate a great deal more and much faster than Kagael, as young men do. Mihir decided he was going down to the stream to wash out the pot and spoons and start preparing the pheasant for the day's dinner. Gwidhe unbuckled the knife from his belt and tossed it (sheathed, of course) to Mihir, who promptly tossed it back muttering about sanitation. Gwidhe shrugged.

Feeling in much better spirits now that she was full (and much bolder) Kagael declared she wanted to go for a walk.

"Too bad, you can't," Gwidhe told her promptly.

"I don't think it's that serious," Mihir argued on Kagael's behalf. "She can walk down to the stream with me."

Kagael hurried to add, "I can help with washing—"

Gwidhe cut her off. "Shut up, Kagael. And she can also run away from you, Mihir. The girl's not going anywhere."

"I'm not going to run," Kagael announced. "I don't know where I am anyway. I'd only get lost."

Gwidhe fixed her with an unreadable stare. Kagael couldn't help getting warm in the face—Gwidhe might be a cruel captor, but he was still one very good-looking young man, ashamed as she was to admit it. "Makes sense," he said after a moment, flicking a pale lock of hair away in a rather careless gesture. "You help Mihir with the washing, and don't try anything." He buckled his knife back on. "I'm going on ahead to scout a bit. I'll be back in roughly twenty minutes," he informed them, "Then we leave immediately and travel steadily till dark."

Kagael watched him disappear into the trees and it finally dawned on her what a hopeless situation she was in. She'd left her home in a temper with every intention of locating her missing mother and making everything better. Now she was tangled up in a mess that she couldn't get out of anytime soon. Kagael thought of her father, Nicholas, and wondered if he or Sameth had come to Qyrre after her yet. Would she be found? These men, Mihir and Gwidhe, did not seem to be common bandits or kidnappers. Were they simply holding Kagael for a ransom, her being the Abhorsen's daughter? But they were also quite obviously taking her somewhere, to someone. It occurred to her, suddenly, that perhaps her mother had been abducted, as well as Aunt Sabriel.

"Are you alright?" Mihir had obviously seen the troubled expression on her face.

"I'm fine," she replied, still frowning. "Let's go."

---

The little carving turned, sunlight from the window glinting off the figure's long, spiraled horn and cloven hooves, its jeweled eyes taking on an almost lifelike sparkling luster.

"Captain, will you please put that down?"

The Lord Prince Sulumor came into his workroom through his office door. Sidhegureth set the carving back down on the dark wood of the shelf and looked up with a smile. He made an elegant bow, long blond hair cascading over his shoulders. "Your Highness, forgive me. I was merely admiring the work. I recall you giving my mother such a piece."

Sulumor smiled, too, at the memory. "Actually, that is the piece. I made it for her seventeenth birthday. Yukiel was very fond of it, wasn't she?"

"Naturally," Sidhegureth replied. "A skillfully crafted piece from her dear brother. You have created quite a collection since then, Lord Uncle."

"A useless pastime. I haven't made any for years. Soon I shall have no need of silly replicas such as these."

Sidhegureth's brow furrowed slightly as he looked from the Prince to the array of carved dragons, unicorns, mythical birds, and other fantastical creatures.

Sulumor cleared his throat. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything by calling you here, Captain. You were quite punctual."

"Actually, I was in the middle of quite a pleasant sparring session with my lieutenant," Sidhegureth informed him, putting on a small pout that only he had the way of doing without looking petulant. "Of course it's no problem at all if you needed me, Your Highness." He paused, the pout disappearing. "If I might be as frank as to add, my lord, I was feeling slightly stressful after the luncheon with Lord Torrigan."

Sulumor lifted his brows inquiringly. "Stressful, Sidhegureth?"

"Yes. I'm not so use to…feeling like a villain."

Sulumor laughed, not unkindly. "'A villain'? Ah, but Captain, you had done nothing villainous." He laughed again.

"I know, Your Highness, but we were hiding things from Torrigan and Uncle Semur. Isn't that wrong?"

"Stop this now, Sidhegureth," Sulumor said, suddenly stern. "You remind me so of my sister, but really I do not appreciate this angelic act of yours."

"My apologies. My conscience is merely grateful that I am not quite as…involved—"

"Then I am sorry to disappoint you, Captain."

Sidhegureth's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"It is why I called you here. You are to take your citadel-ship down to Oncet Pass in the Old Kingdom at dawn two days from now. You will be receiving your brother and his…companions."

"Gwidhe…"

"I am not finished, Captain. You will then join General Noegduch above the northernmost peak in the Glaciers of the Clayr. Is this understood?"

Sidhegureth's mind was roiling, but outwardly he revealed nothing. "Yes, Your Highness. I will begin preparations of the _Cruzada_ immediately." He saluted, accompanied by his usual charming smile and pivoted smartly, then left the room.

Prince Sulumor watched the young captain move down the hallway, then disappear down the stairs. He reached down and picked up the carving Sidhegureth had been admiring, absently fingering its smooth mane.

__

"Her name is Snow," a nine-year-old Sulumor said, holding his precious creation up to his elder sister. "I named her after you."

"Oh…! Oh, Sullie, I can't take this! You worked so hard on it." Yukiel couldn't seem to take her eyes off it.

"I don't need it," Sulumor told her quite seriously. "I'll find a real one someday and we'll get to be friends."

"Thank you. This is so beautiful…I…I don't know what else to say." Yukiel bent down and hugged her little brother.

"I'll find one someday," he let her know, "Vogsako calls them unicorns. He said they are beautiful and wild but very dangerous unless you know how to shackle them. He says there were dragons, too, and halcyons, but the Great Charters banished them."

Yukiel's eyes said that those were just stories, but she did not say so. She merely smiled at her younger brother. "I wish you the best of luck," she whispered.

Sulumor smiled at the memory. "Do you know what luck is, dear departed sister? Luck is for fools who believe that sort of thing. You cannot wish it. One must make it. I have always made my own luck, and soon I shall be making it for all of the land."

Sidhegureth walked through the palace courtyard at a brisk pace, making plans as he moved. He reached the tall storage building where the ships that were not often used were kept. He stepped inside the high double doors, which were ajar, and flipped a switch along the wall that triggered a chain of Charter marks that lit the vast chamber from the ceiling.

The _Lechuza Cruzada_ was a large, silvery craft, made of a sort of material that Orkaire's sorcerers had developed over long years. The substance had high magic conductivity and absorption and, despite its apparent shininess, very little reflective properties. Old, powerful spells caused any spell aimed at the vessel to be absorbed and instantly activate the cloaking device. The ship was at rest at the moment. Other, slightly smaller vessels in the hangar still had their levitation spells hovering like so much mist around their underbellies, which meant they were regularly in use.

Sidhegureth sent a page scurrying to find Lieutenant Kynned.

A sturdily built young man with brown hair, an open face, and an air of exuberance arrived shortly. "What's up, Cap'n?" he asked.

"Quite a lot," Sidhegureth replied grimly. "Pirates have struck Calwyar Cove; the Owl must take to the coasts again."

Kynned's cheerfulness was instantly replaced by a deep scowl. "When do we leave, Cap'n?" He understood Sidhegureth's meaning, and was clearly as distressed as his superior by the situation.

"Two dawns."

"Very good, Cap'n. I'll round up the men immediately."

Sidhegureth did not watch as his lieutenant departed. He walked over to the _Lechuza Cruzada_ and placed a hand upon her cool surface.

"Looks like we're flying again, old girl," he said softly. "If that's how the winds of fate blow, I suppose we'll just have to make the best of it."

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Author's Note: I'll bet y'all are bursting to point out my **drastic** mistake from the previous chapters with **messagehawks**--that they're enchanted to **speak** the message rather than carry thin scrolls like homing pigeons. Believe it or not, the "mistake" is **intentional**. If Gwidhe shot your average-Abhorsen-trilogy-style messagehawk out of the sky, the message would've gone bye-bye like the birdie. Ergo, the whole reason for the "mistake" is just a bit of dramatic emphasis.

Next chapter…erm…is chapter five, yeah! I'll write the liddle preview here when I've got a little more of the actual chapter written. .;;

Once again, there shall not _be_ a new chapter **UNLESS** I receive at _least_ one new review. Go on…hate me… And in your review, **please** let me know if you find my habit of putting some words in **bold** annoying. I enjoy doing it, dunno why, but if it bothers you, lemme know and I'll stop.


	6. Five: The Silver Ship

'Tis I, the fangirl-writer, Answering Questions yet again…

What the heck is Gwidhe's **'Saraneth implant'** (chapter 3)? If you recall from the prologue of Lirael , Hedge was "**compelled**" to reach Orannis with haste. The line that sticks out to me in particular is "Still he retained enough pride and **will** to **resist** running the last half mile to the mound. It took **all** his strength…" (_Lirael_, pg. 3, HarperTrophy paperback edition). I imagined that Orkaire had created a **device** (in their experiments) that copied this **force** that the Destroyer had to the point wherein they could use **Saraneth** and **'make'** a person do something from a great **distance** away. Confusing, yeah, I know.

And Now For the **Pointless**…DISCLAIMER: "Abhorsen", all names, places, and related indicia are the sole property of Garth Nix, whose work I hold in great admiration…. But remember, readers…GWIDHE BELONGS TO ME! HE DOES!

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CHAPTER FIVE: The Silver Ship 

Kagael was bone-tired when they finally stopped in the falling dark. She'd always believed that she was quite strong—she knew that she certainly had more endurance than either her father or brother. But Gwidhe forced a pace that was more exhausting than anything she'd had to keep up for more than an hour, much less half a day. Kagael barely tasted the pheasant that Mihir painstakingly prepared for dinner that night. When they settled down, she fell asleep immediately, taking no notice of the hard, uneven ground.

It was well past midnight but not quite dawn when Kagael woke. It wasn't a sudden awakening, or a sluggish one. She simply…woke. Kagael sat up, looking around the small campsite.

The fire had burned down to a handful of stammering embers. She could see the dark form that was Mihir asleep a ways to her left. A low pile of something was across the fire, where Gwidhe had settled. Kagael realized that he wasn't there. But that wasn't what had woken her.

Abruptly, the awareness struck her. Gwidhe's shield was gone; she could reach the Charter again! Kagael reached in and drew out random marks of light. How she had missed it! The marks flew from her left hand and lit the campfire anew, silently and without overdoing it. Kagael let her mind slip along the endless stream of marks for a while before finally relinquishing the Charter. She no longer felt quite as weary.

Impulsively, she stood and walked around the fire. The pile at Gwidhe's spot turned out to be his black armor coat and boots.

"I'm going for a walk," she whispered at them, grinning. And she did.

Gwidhe wrung out his white shirt and dried it with a few Charter marks of heat. He pulled it back on—still warm and a little crackly like clothes that have just come out of a dryer, you know?—without bothering with the laces.

The Dog frolicked about the spacious woodland pool, snapping at a wary fish that swam hastily past.

"I don't understand why you're afraid to be seen by that girl," Gwidhe said to his dog as she climbed up onto the bank, shaking herself vigorously but careful so as not to get any droplets onto her master.

The Dog woofed, unconcerned. "I am not. Kagael has seen me before."

"Oh?"

The hound sprawled down by where Gwidhe sat cross-legged on the ground, gently laying her dampish head on his lap. There was a long silence as the young man began to scratch and the Dog seemed to fall asleep.

"Where did you come from?" Gwidhe asked gently, trying to catch his companion off-guard.

The Dog flicked up an eyelid; her amber eye was keen and bright. "The place I resided before I came to you."

"What exactly are you, since you obviously aren't a dog?"

"I am so a dog," said the Dog, sounding miffed. "I thought you were smarter than that, lad."

Gwidhe made a small noise of frustration. They'd been over this many times before, and they'd never gotten anywhere. "What harm will come of telling me?" he asked.

"What harm will come of not telling you, Gwidhe? I think you would like me being the Dog more than whatever else I could be. Now be a good boy and quit asking questions about me."

"It's not fair, you know. I told you everything about me."

The Dog chuckled. "No one can blame an eight-year-old boy for needing someone to talk to."

Giving up, as usual, Gwidhe smiled. "Wherever you came from, I'm glad you came," he said.

"That's the spirit," the Dog said gruffly.

Suddenly she sat bolt upright, ears cocked and listening. Then she let out an echoing bark, reverberating with power. Gwidhe jumped to his feet, whirling around in the direction the Dog had barked at.

He saw nothing in the night, but that didn't mean that nothing was there. Gwidhe turned back towards the Dog, only to find the soapstone statuette lying in the grass. He grumbled as he retrieved it, wishing she wouldn't do that. Putting it into his pocket, he walked back towards camp, purposefully going in the direction of where the Dog had heard the noise.

Kagael only knew that one minute she'd been striding along, reveling in the fresh night air and the soft sounds coming from the surrounding trees. Then she'd been frozen in place, unable to move. Well, it wasn't quite what you'd call frozen. More like she had no control with which to move her limbs. Therefore, she couldn't struggle. She wondered briefly if she ought to call out for help, but decided against it.

A soft scuffing came from up ahead. Kagael's eyes hurried to focus on that spot in the trees. The moon was nearly gone, so there wasn't much light.

Gwidhe emerged, barefoot, from the trees. Kagael noticed with a touch of surprise the softly vacant look of contemplation on his face before he saw her and it was instantly replaced by a deep scowl. Kagael found that she could move again, and did so a few steps backward in the direction of the campsite.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" he demanded. He didn't raise his voice, which was probably what made his words seem more frightening.

"I was walking," Kagael replied as stoutly as she could make herself, "until just a moment ago, when you stopped me with your spell."

Gwidhe opened his mouth, then shut it. He had one hand in his pocket; this hand he pulled out now and ran it through his silvery hair. "Get back to camp," he snapped at her, "and no more wandering around at night."

"Fine," Kagael said, turning. "I wasn't running away or anything."

"Doesn't matter," Gwidhe growled, falling into step beside her. "With the rate of travel we'll be forcing for the next two days, you need all the sleep you can get. We won't be stopping for a spoiled brat who doesn't know what's good for herself." He picked up his pace.

Gwidhe was already down in his bedroll when Kagael arrived back at the campsite. She walked around the fire and slumped down on her spot, which was only just cushioned by one of Mihir's spare blankets. Peering up, she saw Gwidhe lift his left hand. The fire died down to a scattering of embers.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, not expecting much of an answer.

"Shut up and go to sleep."

For the next couple of days, they did indeed travel hard as Gwidhe had said. Mihir cooked them simple but large meals three times a day with edible plant life he'd foraged and whatever Gwidhe brought down with his bow. Kagael learned to eat fast—she'd never been a slow eater, but had never felt the need to hurry through a meal at home. She took no more walks, knowing that it wouldn't get her anywhere.

Around noon the second day, they left the cover of the Great Sickle Wood. The seaside town of Callibe could be seen to the east. They'd been planning to stop for supplies.

"I'll make a quick stop," Mihir volunteered. "You two travel ahead and I'll meet you at the north gate of Callibe."

Gwidhe nodded. Kagael watched Mihir enter the town and briefly considered sprinting after him, disappearing into a building, and thus escaping. She felt Gwidhe's eyes on her and turned. He was watching her with an amused expression. He might as well as have been saying _Just you try and run_.

Half an hour of silence later, and nearing the end of Callibe town, Kagael ventured to speak to her taciturn companion.

"We'll reach the beginning of the Oncet Mountain trail by nightfall at the rate we're travelling," she said, but he evidently knew that already. "We aren't planning to take the pass, right? Where are we going from there?"

For a moment it seemed as though Gwidhe wasn't going to answer her, or that he would tell her to shut up. Then he grinned and turned, slowing, to say, "No, you're right, Kagael. From the Oncet hills we're going…up."

"Up?" she repeated, confused. Up the hills? That made no sense. But Gwidhe was moving on already, and she hurried to match his very brisk pace.

Mihir brought them lunch from the food stalls in Callibe, and they ate on the move. The afternoon sun was high and bright, but thankfully a cool wind blew in from the sea. As the first signs of evening began to bleed across the sky, they reached the end of the fields and the road snaked upward towards Oncet Pass.

Pretty soon, it became apparent that they weren't stopping to eat.

"Are we—?" Kagael began to ask.

"No," Gwidhe said helpfully. "No time for that."

Kagael was not feeling at her best, and the definition of no dinner helped to drag her down even farther. _We won't be stopping for a spoiled brat…_ Gwidhe's words from that night came back to her. She gritted her teeth. Well, damn him. She didn't care.

In the hills, everything was rocky, the hard dirt sporting little tufts of grass, never forming a continuous carpet like down in the fields. Nevertheless, Kagael found a rock that didn't look like it'd be that uncomfortable. She moved over and sat down.

Gwidhe halted immediately and bore down on her. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded quietly.

"I'm sitting down on a rock," she replied pertly.

"Get the hell up," he repeated in that same quiet voice that Kagael had come to think of as his 'furious tone'.

"No," she answered him, letting childish anger surface instead of tears, which would've been much, much worse and humiliating. "I'm tired, I'm hungry, and you said we weren't going to go through the pass."

Mihir had stopped and was watching them, looking concerned.

"We _aren't_ going to go through the damn pass, now get the hell up like I told you to."

Kagael tensed, but remained seated.

"Kagael—" Mihir began, starting toward them.

Gwidhe grabbed her by the upper arm and hauled her up, none too gently either. "Get moving, Abhorsen's whelp, or I swear I'll break your arm," he told her.

Kagael jerked, or tried to jerk her arm out of his grip. "I can walk by myself!" she fairly shrieked. And when he didn't let go, she plunged into the Charter and drew forth a mark of striking. Sparks flew and she smelled Free Magic as Gwidhe warded the mark off effortlessly. Kagael gasped at the metallic tang.

Gwidhe let go her arm. In his left hand, a witch-flame burned steadily, giving off an intense heat yet not harming its holder. He looked down at her. "I've given you back the Charter, dammit, do you want me to enact the shield again?"

Kagael glared at him a moment, then did her best to sneer. "Took you all night last time."

"Actually, I've got the damned thing right here," Gwidhe said threateningly. A presence rose at the back of Kagael's mind. So the shield and pitfall were still intact, merely removed for the time being. "D'you want it back?"

"Don't!" she said, swallowing her panic.

Gwidhe smiled. "I didn't think so. Move it, brat." The Free Magic flame dripped off his fingertips and dissipated.

Fuming and rubbing her smarting arm, Kagael started back up the trail. She was not dealing with ordinary people, she realized, her suspicions confirmed. She ignored Mihir when he asked if she was all right, and Gwidhe's sneer. How can I get away from them? she thought frantically. I can't! What do they want with me? Dad! Danny! Why can't you find me?

Kagael swallowed hard. How in the world had she gotten herself into something like this… She should've stayed at home that day. She should've waited patiently for news of her mother and Aunt Sabriel. She should've…

They had rounded the hill and the young men had stopped. Kagael had nearly run into Mihir. He steadied her.

"What…?"

Gwidhe moved forward several steps and lifted his left hand. "I've got Kagael!" he called, his magnified voice travelling up in a whorl to pierce a thick mass of cloud above.

Kagael shivered.

Suddenly, the cloud began to dissolve, scattering left and right and every which way, sending drafts of wind pouring down the valley and swirling around the hills. What was left of the cloud descended rapidly until it was level with the tops of the hills. Its presence was freezing cold. Kagael stumbled until she felt Mihir's hand on her back. Then the freezing sensation was gone.

Kagael looked up. She saw silver and smelled Free Magic. She saw a craft that was both like and unlike the airships of Ancelstierre. She had never seen anything like it.

A hatch slid open along the side of the ship and Kagael felt lots of Charter magic from within the vessel. A sturdy young man with close cut brown hair jumped down and approached them.

"Lord Gwidhe," he acknowledged, bowing stiffly from the waist.

Gwidhe looked past the man at the ship. Kagael couldn't see his face, but she guessed that it held a look of distaste. "He sent the _Cruzada_ for us?" He didn't say it like it was a question, more like an exclamation of indignation.

"We should hurry." Mihir came up beside Gwidhe, and, tentatively, Kagael followed.

Without another word, Gwidhe went over to the opened hatch and leaped up onto the ship. He disappeared through another door on the other end of the opening chamber. Mihir entered as well, but waited.

Kagael understood, but she didn't need his help. She climbed on, if a bit slower than her escorts. The brown-haired young man who had greeted them jumped on after her. Mihir started towards the door, but not before a gust of cold permeated the chamber. The brown-haired young man muttered a curse as they all hurried inward.

Kagael took a hurried glance backwards through the small circular window as she was bustled out of the chamber and the interior door began sliding shut with a hiss of marks. It was only a quick glance, but she knew what she saw. And what she saw was sky.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Author's Note: I had a **writer's** **block** writing this liddle chappie. But I lived, since here you are reading it. I'd like to give a **big** **heartfelt** **thank** **you** to my reviewers—I'd **never** have written more than that impulsive liddle prologue if I hadn't gotten **reviews**! Yes, I know…this whole fic is done on **impulse**…**no** outline…**no** planning whatsoever…just writin' down whatever pops into my head…heh…

Next: If you're wondering where all the action I promised went, it might just start around chapter six. Who knows? We'll get to see Sidhegureth again (rubs hands with glee). This shall be fun!

But you know I'm evil, right? Good. Can't letcha forget. **THREE** **REVIEWS!** MUST HAVE **THREE** **NEW** **REVIEWS** OR **NO** **NEW** **CHAPTER**! (mwahahaha…)


	7. Six: A Lesson in Free Magic

Did you all wait a **long **time? I'm a **busy** little girl, dontcha know. But **Thank** **You** for having **patience** with me! --hands out the Nice Big Chapter that is Chapter Six-- **Enjoy**!

-Phyllis (Hopper, if we get ta be friends)

DISCLAIMER: "Abhorsen", all names, places, and related indicia are the sole property of Garth Nix, whose work I hold in great admiration.

* * *

CHAPTER SIX: A Lesson in Free Magic 

Kagael had barely turned around before Mihir had her by the hand and was pulling her down the hallway. The young man who had greeted them said something fast about seeing the captain before heading down a separate hallway. Kagael and Mihir went up a flight of stairs, then he bustled her down another hall. As she went along, moving too briskly to grasp her surroundings, a voice blared overhead. Kagael swallowed her alarm. She was sure the voice could be heard all over the craft.

"**Wing Commander Gwidhe Venyeiya Ulseil report to the Captain in his quarters.**"

Then she was standing before a door to a room that was probably one of the passenger accommodations on the…what had Gwidhe called it? on the _Lechuza_. Mihir tried the door, and—when he found it unlocked—breathed an audible sigh of relief. He hurried her inside and shut it behind them. There was a fizzle as he let go the knob and the door disappeared into the gray wall. Kagael blinked, hopelessly befuddled.

"That's—ah," Mihir gestured at where the door had been, "a safety measure, you could say. Not all the crew is, erm, fully informed of the, er, circumstances, and…well, let's just say we're all in a hurry and—at the time—not ready to have you around." He stopped, a hand to his head. "Er, did that make sense?"

Truthfully, Kagael shook her head.

Mihir sighed. "It's really for your own safety. It's best if you don't talk to any of the crew." He sounded really sincere. "This is your room," he continued, his voice taking on a more cheerful tone. "You're probably not use to something as…limited as this, but it'll have to do until we get there, I suppose."

Kagael looked around. There was a narrow bed to the left of the room with a small bedside table. The only other piece of furniture was a chair with a thin cushion.

"The lavatory's through that door," Mihir pointed. "Just a toilet, I'm afraid. If you need a bath or something you'll have to go down the first level. There's about three bathrooms there, for the crew," he explained. "I suppose that'll have to be arranged…" He looked like the complications were giving him a headache. "I think the Captain has his own bathroom…Ohh, this is difficult." He stopped a moment, looking at such a loss that Kagael wished she could help him.

"I'm not in that bad of a hurry to get a bath," she hurried to reassure him. "You needn't worry so much…"

Mihir grinned with obvious relief. "Oh, that's alright then." He looked a little embarrassed. "Y'see, my older sister is one of those types whose really big on hygiene, not saying that you're…well, I just assumed…ahaha, but since you're fine then, that's good." He smiled. "Listen, why don't you talk to Gwidhe when he comes to check on you? He's the room right next to yours, anyway. I've got a room down in the crews' quarters."

Kagael tried not to let her disappointment show.

"I've got to go now," Mihir said. "Gwidhe'll bring supper soon," he added. He put his hand on the air where the doorknob was, hastily jerked back what now looked to be a section of the wall, and stepped out into the hallway. He gave her a quick wave and an encouraging smile before shutting the door.

Kagael stood looking at the wall for a moment, feeling tired and hopeless. Then she went over to the bed, kicked off her shoes, and lay down. She closed her eyes, wanting to rest. There were two things Kagael knew now, for sure, and she didn't like either of them—she was trapped in enemy territory, and the one person she'd started to trust had just left her alone.

.

Gwidhe was banging on his brother's cabin door before the magically magnified voice had finished its oration.

Without haste and with graceful deliberation, the Captain rose from his armchair at the desk and answered the door. "Gwidhe," he said, his voice neutral and a small smile on his lips, "That was fast." He stood aside and let Gwidhe enter.

The Captain's quarters were considerably larger than any of the other accommodations aboard the _Lechuza Cruzada_. It extended the full width of the ship, with a low ceiling swimming with marks of illumination. The walls were white, and the back wall had a row of three windows through which you could see the long clouds scudding past. The room was furnished with a bed, a sofa, and a desk, armchair, and a small painting that looked to be recent additions.

"Why'd _you_ guys come down to get us?" Gwidhe asked, seating himself on the sofa without being asked to.

The Captain returned to his desk. "What, not happy to see me?" he asked in a warm but bored voice.

"Actually, I'm ecstatic, can't you tell?" Gwidhe replied in a parody of his brother's unruffledness. "I just want to know why we weren't received by the Citadel."

"Use your brain, Gwidhe. General Noegduch can hardly bring that thing this far into the Old Kingdom." He paused. "But let's not get off to a bad reunion, shall we? How's it been for you of late, brother?"

"Like hell," Gwidhe replied crisply. "I had to kill a Clayr, burn a town, and tote a spoiled brat halfway up the Kingdom. How's it been going for you, Sidhegureth?"

"Please don't talk to me like that," Sidhegureth said. "I feel bad for you, really. I wish none of this were happening at all." As if on sudden inspiration, he got up from his desk and went over to sit on the sofa next to his brother. Gwidhe had started playing with a little green figurine; he turned sharply as Sidhegureth sat down. "Is that a dog?" he asked of Gwidhe, his neutral voice now tinged with consideration.

"No, it's a cow," Gwidhe scoffed.

Sidhegureth didn't let the comment faze him. "You know, I was looking at Uncle's collection before I left. Do you remember how we used to—"

Gwidhe cut him off unceremoniously. "He's the Lord Prince, Captain Sidhegureth, and we're not children anymore." As if to emphasize the point, he shoved the statuette into his trouser pocket and began toying with a small Charter flame. "We're Ulseils."

"We're Venyeiyas, too," Sidhegureth reminded him, a little sadly.

Gwidhe smiled, and it held a glint of cruelty in it. "And like the old saying goes, the only Venyeiya that matters is the one that wears the crown. Ironic, isn't it? Semur's so dense he wouldn't notice if a dragon sat on him; the Lord Prince is moving a whole world beyond the Charter. Tell me which Venyeiya matters."

A thin line appeared twixt Sidhegureth's brow—the only indication of his distress. "Don't, Gwidhe. That's…blasphemous."

"Fine. What did you want me for?"

"I," Sidhegureth sighed, brushing back a pale blond lock from his face, "I'm returning this to you." He strode over behind his desk and picked up Gwidhe's sheathed rapier. He tossed it towards the couch; Gwidhe stood and caught it in midair. "I also just wanted to see you," Sidhegureth continued. "It's been such a long time."

"You're strange, you know that, brother?" Gwidhe tucked the rapier under his arm. "Thanks, but I'm hungry now, so I'll be heading down to get my supper." He strode over to the door.

"Bring some food to your guest," Sidhegureth reminded him, "She's the room next to yours—you'll see it."

Gwidhe turned, halfway out the door. "Oh yes. Thanks for reminding me." He shut the door behind him.

.

"Kagael!"

She moaned, turning over. Had she slept in…? Was that…Daniel…getting her…?

Kagael sat up abruptly as a hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her up. It was Gwidhe. He had set a tray on her bedside table. It held her supper.

"Oh. Thank you," she said automatically.

He smiled. "Why, you're welcome."

Kagael flushed. Smiles were so becoming on the man. She swung her legs over the edge of the narrow bed and balanced the tray on her lap. There was a plain white bowl holding a steaming stew and some bread, warm and fresh. Kagael wiped her hands on the moist towel and picked up the bread.

Gwidhe seated himself on the chair. She looked at him.

"We can talk while you eat," he said simply.

"You want to talk to me?"

"Actually, no. But let's anyway."

A little confused, Kagael turned back to her meal. She dipped a chunk of the bread into the stew, then bit into it, trying not to look like she was in a hurry. But she _was_ very hungry, if not so tired as before.

"First, I want to know if you can use Free Magic."

"No," Kagael replied, swallowing. "It's not allowed."

Gwidhe looked exasperated. "I didn't ask if you were allowed to, I asked if you _could_."

"I…" Kagael had never thought about it before. Her Charter Mark showed that she was capable of Charter magic, yet Free Magic sorcerers had no specific distinguishing mark. How was someone to know that they were born with the capability? "I don't know."

He looked at her incredulously. "Necromancy is Free Magic! Aren't you the Abhorsen-in-waiting?"

"No. I'm the Remembrancer-in-waiting. Mother said I didn't have the aptitude for necromancy."

Gwidhe looked at her, his eyes so intense that her face got warm again. "You're not?! Oh, damn."

Kagael swallowed her mouthful of stew. "What do you mean by that?"

"I have to teach you Free Magic, because you _have_ the ability to wield it."

"Teach me?" Kagael couldn't believe what she was hearing. "But I can't learn it, I just told you!"

"And I just told you that you could," Gwidhe countered.

Bemused, Kagael returned to her meal. "Why do I need to anyway? I don't want to learn," she let him know firmly, scraping up the last of the stew and tilting the bowl back to catch it in her mouth.

She choked. _Charter…!_

"Now you will," Gwidhe said grimly.

---

It was pouring, raining like there was no tomorrow. Sameth cursed, shivered, and sneezed as he stepped into the first inn he came upon in Qyrre. It was well past ten o'clock at night and the room had a number of people sitting around, drinking, talking. It was also considerably warmer here, with the lanterns burning and a welcome fire to the side of the room. Sameth took off his sopping cloak and hung it on a peg by the door, away from the other guests' dry ones. He then pulled a chair from an empty table and moved it by the fire.

Sameth had stayed at the Abhorsen's House after his visit. When young Kagael still did not turn up at the end of the day, a fretting Nicholas had declared that he was setting out to look for her at first light. Sameth had volunteered, and promised to bring her back soon. "It shouldn't be a problem, Nick," he had told him reassuringly. "I'll bet Kagy's just down the river brooding somewhere."

The first place Sam checked had been Roble's Town. Kagael hadn't been there, so he'd taken a boat down to Qyrre. Not far from the docks, under some sheltering trees, he'd spotted the small boat she'd obviously taken tied firmly to a stump. _So she's at Qyrre_, Sam had thought triumphantly. It'd begun raining shortly after he entered town, so he had to find a place to wait it out. Might as well check the inn while he was at it.

The innkeeper looked up sourly at the man before the fire, mostly at the growing puddle of rainwater forming at his feet. He turned around, calling loudly for a maid to mop it up.

Sameth got up and moved aside as a maid with a mop scurried over. He apologized, then made his way over to the innkeeper.

The innkeeper was an annoyed-looking man with a pathetic excuse for a mustache. "Seven coppers an' a silver piece a night, sir, includin' a meal," he said by way of greeting.

"No, I'm not staying." Sameth swallowed the urge to say "Good evening to you, too" and asked, "Has a young lady with long black hair wearing blue come in any time during the last two or three days?"

"Young lady? Wearin' blue?" the innkeeper repeated dubiously.

"Yes," Sam told him. "She's sixteen, average height. Name of Kagael."

"Mm, no. Dun ever recall havin' such a guest. Sorry." Then before Sameth could say anything, the man continued: "You eatin' here, sir? T'night's special includes dace fresh caught from th' river, veggible stew, an' soft white rolls. Only twenny coppers if y' order it with a large beer."

Sam was hungry, and he had money to spare, but twenty coppers was a rip off and Sam did not like being ripped off. "I'll take the usual," he let the man know, "and a regular beer will be fine."

"That'll be twelve coppers, then," a disgruntled innkeeper replied. Obviously the special hadn't been selling well.

Sam paid the twelve coppers and went to find himself a seat. He plopped down (still rather damp) on a none-too-comfortable wooden chair as a maid bustled over with a mug. He thanked her and she bobbed a curtsy before scurrying back to the kitchen.

Sameth listened to the conversation around him as he waited for his food. Service around here sure was slow. He wondered if half the people here (there really weren't that many) had only come in to get out of the rain. A squat lady sitting at the table to his right was complaining to a well-dressed man who kept twirling his glossy mustache about "Eduard's blasted chickens" and going on so loudly about it that Sam couldn't quite hear anything else.

His meal arrived on a chipped plate. Sam had doubts about how well they'd washed it. This really wasn't worth twelve coppers. He picked up his fork and ate one of the few thin slices of gravy-drenched beef on his plate. It was far too salty. He took a drink of beer and moved onto the potatoes.

The complaining lady said something about needing to use the restroom and got up, crossing the room.

"…this rain's gonna let up. Say, Ara, you heard about the kidnapping earlier this week?"

Sam sat bolt upright. Had he heard right? Did the man two tables to the left just say 'kidnapping'?

"Kidnapping?" repeated the man's companion.

Sameth was really listening now, a speared potato poised before his lips.

"Yeah," the man said. "The girl with blue eyes,"

"Uh-huh,"

Blue eyes, Sam thought. Kagael has blue eyes!

"She woke up," the man finished, and broke out laughing. His companion paused a moment, then started laughing as well. "The kid _napping_, eh? That was the stupidest joke I've heard since that one 'bout the dead oak!"

Feeling thoroughly idiotic, Sam resumed eating the grainy potato.

---

Kagael's eyes flew open again, frustration evident in her dark blue irises.

"Shut your eyes, we're not getting anywhere," Gwidhe growled, an agitated Free Magic flame bobbing in his palm.

Kagael did.

"Reach around the Charter," Gwidhe started again in that jaded voice for what seemed to be the hundredth time, "Swim through the annoying little golden colors."

Kagael's forehead furrowed as she tried.

"Grab the light," Gwidhe's voice came faster. "Surrender and let it consume you. Until you burn it and it burns you and you can breathe its scent through your nostrils, now—"

"I can't!" Kagael said, shaking her head. "There's nothing there."

"All right, stop it." Even Gwidhe was sounding resigned.

"There's nothing beyond the Charter," she repeated.

"Yes there is. Don't be stupid."

"Perhaps if you got rid of the shield—"

"I'm telling you again, the shield hasn't to do with a damn thing. You don't need the Charter to reach the Free. The Charter itself is an intruder; you need to get around it." He got up from the chair, paced across the room and back; he'd done that several times already since they'd started.

"I'm tired," Kagael said. She didn't want to sound weak, but she was.

Gwidhe heaved a heavy sigh. "Right. Then there's something else we need to get to."

"What?"

Gwidhe pulled open the door and looked up and down the hallway before stepping out. He motioned for her to follow. After she was out in the hall he shut the door behind them.

"You'll need a change of clothes," he was telling her. "Can't have you seen in that Abhorsen's surcoat."

"And a bath," she prompted without thinking.

She imagined Gwidhe rolled his eyes.

They headed down the direction opposite from the stairs. Gwidhe walked into a room and reappeared with a bundle of cloth. He was muttering, probably complaining about being put in charge of her.

She followed him down the stairs. They turned right. There was a door, shut, then a few feet after it was an opening to a small chamber on the other side of which was a door.

Gwidhe tossed the bundle at Kagael and waved her towards the room. "There's your bath. Make sure you put up the occupied label. There's a sending in there if you need any help. Be quick about it, and go straight back to your room when you're done. No wandering."

Kagael nodded, stepping inside. Gwidhe disappeared down the hall. She shifted the clothes in her arms and opened the door to the bath chamber. Setting her clothes down on a countertop-like protrusion from the wall, she picked up the occupied label and, reaching out, hung it from the doorknob before shutting and locking the door.

There was a nondescript white tub in the center of the room, a stack of towels within arm's reach of the rim. On the other wall was a full-length mirror. A sending stood unmoving beside it, but when Kagael removed her rather grimy clothes, leaving them on the tiled floor, the sending came forward and picked them up, tossing them into what was probably a laundry hamper.

Kagael climbed into the tub. The water was barely warm, but not uncomfortable. The sending gave her a sponge and soap. Kagael accepted them.

She handed the soap back, having finished using it, and began scrubbing herself. Kagael gave a little squeak of surprise as the sending began soaping her hair, then relaxed. It wasn't assertive like the senile bath sending at home—it just tried to help. Kagael washed off her body and watched soapsuds bob across the surface of the water as the sending worked up a lather. Then it moved back, its job done. Kagael duck under the water to wash the soap out of her.

The sending changed the water once, and Kagael rinsed herself out one more time before climbing out. The floor was rather cold when wet and she shivered. She took a towel off the top of the pile and dried herself and her hair as quickly as possible all the while moving towards the clean clothes.

There was a long-sleeved, lace-up white shirt, which she donned first. There were also a pair of loose trousers of a deep color that neared tan, and a long, fold-over tunic of dark mahogany-red. They fit Kagael relatively well. The shirt was a bit long, but it was alright once she tucked it into her pants, which were comfortable and soft against her legs. The sleeves were still a bit long, but it didn't matter. The tunic was a good fit, if a bit loose, but she hardly noticed after she belted it with a length of white cord.

Standing in front of the mirror, Kagael tried to work out the tangles in her hair to little avail, until the sending got a clue and produced a comb. It was still quite a feat, nonetheless.

Finally, she opened the door, returned the occupied sign, and left the chamber. She proceeded down the hall.

"Excuse me, I haven't seen you here before…?" A male voice spoke from behind her. _This isn't suppose to happen_, Kagael thought, rather worried. She did not answer and kept walking towards the stairs.

The man overtook Kagael and turned to face her. He had sandy hair a bit longer than Gwidhe's and a Charter Mark on his forehead. "I was talking to you," he said. "Did Gwidhe bring you with him?"

Kagael didn't like the way he was looking at her, and really wanted to tell him he was rude, but chose not to speak, remembering Mihir's warning.

Then the young man grabbed her arm. It wasn't a hard grip but it startled her. "Can you hear me?" he asked her, something like curiosity in his voice. "You came with Gwidhe, right? Where're you staying?"

Kagael looked away from him. "Excuse me," she said, pushing past him. She felt him touch her hair and shuddered, picking up her pace. He did not follow her and she hurried up the stairs. She walked down the hall, past Gwidhe's room and felt along the wall for her own. She pulled the door open and walked in, shutting and locking it behind her.

.

Kagael found it hard to sleep. She had doused all the Charter marks of illumination and was now simply lying on her back, staring into the darkness. She wished she had the Charter again, so that she could at least dry her damp hair. After a while, finding nothing better to do, she decided to look for the Free Magic again.

Closing her eyes, she reached towards the place where she found the gold light. It was the same gold light she used to amuse herself, but now she couldn't draw it out with Gwidhe's shield in place. 'Swimming' through it with her mind, she reached…blackness. Gwidhe said there would be light, but she couldn't find any. _I don't _have_ the aptitude_, she thought.

Still unable to sleep, Kagael decided to just keep trying. Reach, swerve, swim…grab…Nothing. Reach, swerve, swim, grab, grab…Nothing. Reach, swerve, swim, surface—! Kagael stiffened. There was a heat under her skin, no, deeper. Nearly panicking, she tried to push it away and it faded back to the Nothingness that was failure. What had she done wrong? Right…she had to let it burn her. Kagael winced and tried again, faster.

Around the Charter, through the gold. Surface. Surrender. The heat filled her—_have to be fast; this hurts_—she reached out for it angrily and the burning turned against it. Then a metallic scent filled her nostrils…

Here was _Magic_. Wild, roiling, burning white hot in her hands. Free, yet full of anticipation to be formed. Like metal, yet liquid.

An awareness told Kagael someone was there—not in her mind, but in the vicinity of her physical manifestation. Her eyes flew open.

The door to her room was open and a shaft of light fell through her room from the hallway. The young man who had accosted her in the hallway was in her room, the Charter Mark on his forehead flared. He came over.

Kagael swallowed her alarm. She rolled over and got to her feet.

.

Gwidhe yanked his shirt on, grabbed his sword from nightstand, and was out of his room in the space of a couple of breaths. The door to Kagael's room was open and he heard a voice cry out inside, not hers, but damn it all anyway. Gwidhe charged in.

.

Kagael still had the burning light of Free Magic inside her and she hurled it away from herself and at the man. He didn't quite dodge it and his face registered shock before his hands flew to his eyes as he cried out in pain, stumbling. Then he straightened, blinking as though he saw spots and spat out several marks that locked Kagael in place where she stood.

At that very moment Charter light flooded the room and Gwidhe entered, scabbarded sword in hand. Before the man could react Gwidhe had crossed the room and rammed the pommel of his sword onto the nerve center below the man's sternum in one swift movement. The man doubled over, retching.

Gwidhe turned to Kagael, lifting the marks. She stumbled forward. "Into my room," Gwidhe snapped at her, gesturing with his sword. Kagael hurried past him, out of her room, and obeyed.

.

Gwidhe's room was rather larger than hers and had more things in it. Kagael registered this, plopping herself down on the edge of a simple lounge seat. She could hear Gwidhe's voice in the next room, angry but not loud, mostly calling the other man (Daven, apparently) bastard and pervert and a variety of other things that Kagael had never said to anyone in her life.

Kagael started slightly as the man staggered down the hallway, past Gwidhe's door. Daven threw a glance at her; she looked away. Then Gwidhe came in, carrying her pillow and blanket.

Kagael looked up at him as he propped his sword back up against his nightstand. She ran a nervous hand through her now-dry hair. Gwidhe tossed her things over to her and she caught them. Gwidhe shut his door and locked it, then went over to sit on the edge of his bed.

He looked her in the eye. "Kagael, I smelled Free Magic in your room. That was you, wasn't it?"

Kagael nodded.

Gwidhe grinned. "I must say, I'm rather proud of you. Perhaps you're not that much of an idiot after all." Kagael blushed furiously. "From this point on, everything should go much more smoothly."

"Thanks," Kagael muttered. Seeking someplace else to rest her eyes on other than his smiling face, the greenstone carving of a dog on his nightstand caught her gaze. She stared, and he noticed.

"What is it?"

"My…mother had a statuette just like that. It…" Kagael wondered if she should tell him. "It changed into a dog. She's been missing it—"

"I've had it since I was small," Gwidhe said. His voice held a little distress.

"Mm," Kagael said, "I'm not saying it's the same one. They just…look a lot alike. I'm probably just tired."

"You can go ahead and make yourself comfortable up there," Gwidhe gestured to the shelf-like storage area in the wall a little higher than his bed; it was roomy enough for a person to sleep in and didn't look that uncomfortable. "You probably don't want to sleep in the same room as that idiot Daven's mess."

Kagael nodded, walking over. She tossed her things up there and hoisted herself up. She arranged the pillow and smoothed the blanket just as Gwidhe doused the lights. She heard the rustle of sheets as he got into bed. She mulled over it a minute, then decided she had no reason not to say it, so she did.

"Good night."

Silence.

Not that she expected an answer, she added as a gruff afterthought.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Author's Note: In case you haven't noticed, 'Venyeiya' is the **surname** of the Orkairen **royal** **family** and Gwidhe and his bro are the children of Princess **Yukiel** and **Hedge** Ulseil. I've always pictured Hedge as blond, and Yukiel as having silvery hair. Hope that helps. I made Gwidhe kinda **mean** in the beginning of the chapter, so I had to make up for it in the end.

Now I would greatly appreciate it if you could tell me very briefly in your **review** who your **favorite** **character**(s) is thus far and **why**. I think Gwidhe has **one** fan, at least…--looks around worriedly--…Personally, I'm a Sidhegureth-fan, really, I am.

For those who reviewed at the note I had posted here earlier, simply **log** **out**, then post your review as anonymous; I'll know it's you!

Next: Kagael will meet the wonderful Cap'n Sidhegureth (blushes for her in anticipation). Lucky gal. The _Lechuza Cruzada_ will reach the Citadel in the Glaciers. Why there, have you wondered? What awaits them there? A Promise of Action, which I **Can** write…just you wait…


	8. Seven: A Visit

Whee! You actually **appreciate** my **characters**! I feel so **loved**, cuz most my characters are all parts of my friends & me! I also feel **guilty** for being such a **slow** writer…

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Cali- Yes, I do know about Inuyasha; he was a **major** obsession for me a little while ago. I called my friend Mihir, whom a certain character (guess who) was based off of (very closely, might I add), and he was a little…taken aback with your reference to Miroku. I found that **very** amusing. =D Btw, I've a few Inu fics up. Why don't you **R&R**? Wait…that didn't sound quite evil enough…**R&R **and I will give you cookies! If you **don't** I shall **feed** you to the **llamas**…! :D

****

DISCLAIMER: "Abhorsen", all names, places, and related indicia are the sole property of Garth Nix, whose work I hold in great admiration. The Ulseil brothers belong to moi. Pr-et-ty obvious if ya ask me.

* * *

CHAPTER SEVEN: A Visit

Gwidhe woke Kagael early the next day, balancing on the edge of his bed and poking her arm a couple of times until she pulled it back and sat up, the top of her head grazing the top of the storage space.

"Stay here," he told her. "I'm going to get breakfast."

Kagael ran her fingers through her hair and watched Gwidhe leave, locking the door after him. She put on the red tunic, belted it, and waited. After a while, she climbed down from her loft and walked over to Gwidhe's nightstand. The dog statuette was sitting there like it had been the night before. Kagael looked at it with wide eyes. It looked exactly liked her mother's, the same smooth green body, the same, slightly cocked head, the same pointed ears, and the same expectant pose.

Hand trembling a little, Kagael reached out and stroked its glossy head. It was a familiar gesture from when she was little; she'd done it to her mother's figurine many times before. She ran a finger along its smooth green snout. With each passing second she became more convinced that this was the same dog that had belonged to her mother. Kagael picked it up and held it before her face.

"Kibeth," she whispered. "Is that you; can you hear me?" It was silly to ask, Kagael knew. Even if—by some bizarre twist of fate—Gwidhe had come to possess the very same statuette, the spirit of Kibeth had long since entered Death.

Still holding the dog in her hand, Kagael moved over to sit on the lounge seat. She'd noticed that Gwidhe's sword was gone; he'd taken it with him when he left, not that he needed it at breakfast, but he certainly wasn't leaving it in the same room as an unattended Kagael.

Cupping the small dog in her palms, and not quite sure why she was doing it, Kagael closed her eyes and reached out for the Free Magic. Pretty soon the metallic stink that still unnerved her filled her nostrils. What to do now? She couldn't quite remember how she'd made the light to hurl at Daven the night before, and didn't know anything beyond reaching Free Magic. Slowly, she withdrew.

The door opened without warning in a whisper of moving marks. Gwidhe entered with a tray, and Mihir—whom Kagael was very glad to see—followed him with a tray in each arm. Gwidhe looked at Kagael on the couch with the statuette in her hands and his eyes narrowed.

"Could you put that back?" he said tersely.

Kagael mumbled an apology, returning the dog to his bedside table.

"Morning!" Mihir greeted her. "Did you sleep well?"

Kagael nodded, accepting a tray from him and thanking him. Mihir seated himself on the armrest of the lounge seat. Gwidhe dropped his rapier by his nightstand and sat cross-legged on his bed with his tray balanced on his lap. At first they ate in silence, then Mihir spoke.

"Gwidhe, have you started teaching Kagael yet?"

Gwidhe looked up. There were four slices of toast on his tray, wheat; plain, unbuttered, and he'd been playing around with arranging them. "Turns out she didn't even know how to get to Free Magic, much less wield it. She seems to have gotten the idea now." He promptly stuffed a corner of the toast into his mouth.

Kagael took the chance to ask Mihir, "Why am I learning Free Magic anyway? What does it have to do with why I'm here?"

Mihir was silent for a moment, swirling a gulp of milk around in his mouth. He swallowed. "Gwidhe's preparing you for something. He has to do it, too. It's something like a ritual, and you have to have profuse amounts of both Charter and Free Magic in you in order for it to be effective. There's going to be other people doing it, too."

He'd explained, but definitely not the whole thing. Kagael knew she had Free Magic in her blood from her father, who had once been possessed by Orannis the Destroyer. But what was this thing she had to do and why had they kidnapped her for it? She asked Mihir that.

Mihir took a long time swallowing his porridge. "Erm," he said finally, "it's rather complicated. The kidnapping was…regrettable but necessary."

"You're with Orkaire, right?"

Mihir blinked. "Did I say that?"

Gwidhe surprised them all by laughing. "The girl's not stupid, Mihir. How did you know, Kagael?"

Kagael fiddled with her spoon. "It first started nagging me when I heard you called to the Captain. Venyeiya is the surname of the Orkairen Royal family…"

Gwidhe snorted. Kagael looked up. "Continue," he prompted.

"And the jacket you wear," she resumed quickly, "I didn't quite remember where I'd seen the cut at first, but then I remembered it from a drawing of Orkairen military uniform from one of my schoolbooks.

"I wasn't completely sure until last night. I mean, I was thinking all along that if you were Wing Commander, you had to be Wing Commander of something. And then, last night, I could read your dogtag because your tunic was undone and I saw the word Orkaire. That's when I was sure."

Gwidhe nodded.

"Which," Kagael swallowed, not really wanting to say it. "Which means Orkaire did burn Navis, and…" her voice softened, "they said 'Ulseil' did it. That was you."

Gwidhe's face was indifferent. "You are correct."

Kagael's eyes widened. Now that her fears and doubts were confirmed, now… She didn't know what to think. "It was…! Why? Orkaire has my mother, too, don't you? And Aunt Sabriel. Why?"

Gwidhe finished his last piece of toast, brushed the crumbs off his fingers, and started on the porridge.

"I don't care what this ritual is," Kagael said, her voice shaking with anger, "I won't do it. I'm not touching Free Magic again; it's tainted!"

"It _is_ tainted," Gwidhe said quite calmly. "Tainted by the Charter."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Charter's demise," Gwidhe said in that same calm voice, taking a sip of his juice. "The Charter's undoing, unweaving, and casting aside."

Kagael almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. "You can't destroy the Charter."

"No. But what we _can_ do is unravel it and return it to the Free Magic from which it was made."

"I'm having no part in this. It's obscene!"

"You will if you want to live," Gwidhe continued, his cool voice taking on a menacing quality. "As the saying goes, 'Bravado won't feed you; stupidity will kill you'. In your place, I'd be thankful for the honor, and cooperate."

"This is really not a good topic to start off the day with," Mihir interrupted loudly. "Say, Gwidhe, did I mention that Odessa told me she wanted to see you before I left the capital?"

Gwidhe's cold eyes remained on Kagael's for a second longer before he turned to Mihir. His tone was now a casual one. "And I'm sure you let her know that with this assignment I probably won't have any time to see her until the end of the month."

"Actually, she said something about getting a position on Citadel with General Noegduch. If she has…"

Mihir's voice faded from Kagael's ears. She felt drowned by the enormity of the situation. Orkaire…had the power…to unravel…the Charter…? The very notion was mad, but Gwidhe sounded so damn serious. And what reason had he to joke about it. _Mother_, she thought weakly, _Where are you? Are you all right? Oh, I need you, Mother. Father. Danny. Sam. Anyone. I can't face this alone; I can't because I'm too weak, too useless. I've caused you trouble all my life…But I've never needed you like now…Please._

Kagael didn't want to eat anymore, but she finished her porridge anyway. She was silent as Mihir gently removed the tray from her lap.

"Hey, are you all right?" he asked gently when her hands dropped away limply to her sides.

"Leave her alone; she'll come to her senses," Gwidhe's dispassionate voice let him know.

Mihir adjusted their trays with a slight rattle. "Well," he said, "I'm sure you'll…you'll see when it's all explained. Don't worry about your Mum and Aunt. We're making sure they're all right, just like we are you."

"They've been blocked from the Charter, too, haven't they?" Kagael said coldly. "And some unfeeling sorcerers are trying to force Free Magic out of them? That's not all right. That's far from all right. That's wrong!"

Kagael fell back against the back of the seat as Gwidhe struck her across the face. He didn't do it hard; it barely left a mark, but the shock was enough; Kagael had never been hit like that before. She lifted a hand and pressed it to her cheek, staring at the floor.

"Gwidhe," Mihir said. It was a sharp hiss through his teeth.

"I swear," Gwidhe said in his deadly quiet voice, "I've never met such an impossible brat. Grow up, Kagael Abhorsen. The world doesn't care if you feel safe—we're all here to serve a purpose, and that's for the greater good of the world. If you're to die doing it, then you can only accept your fate. My father had _his_ fate sealed, and it was by your mother."

Kagael flinched.

"Personally, I think I'm a very merciful person." With that, Gwidhe walked over to the door, pulled it open, and stepped out into the hall.

Mihir followed him, still looking concerned.

"**Don't** leave the room," Gwidhe's voice said from the hall. Then the door closed.

Kagael blinked away tears. He had hit her. The hatred she'd had for him, which had been slowly seeping away, came back in a torrent.

---

"Lord Torrigan, your carriage has arrived."

Saying so, the servant in palace livery bowed and backed from the door. Touchstone stepped out of the room after him and was led out to the front of the palace. The elderly advisor Vogsako was there, standing beneath an ornate carriage drawn by two horses.

As Touchstone thanked the man who held the door open for him and took a seat, he could see that the old man was in bustling good spirits.

"How are you today, Lord Torrigan? Fine weather, don't you think?" Vogsako asked. The sky was white-gray and it was dreadfully chilly for August. "Always did like a good wind in from the sea."

Touchstone smiled and nodded.

Vogsako apologized smoothly for taking so much time to arrange the trip, his excuse being obstructions in the academy's schedule. "I hope you have been much looking forward to this. The academy is the pride of our nation."

"I thought," Touchstone said calculatedly, "that sorcery was not encouraged by the Venyeiyas?"

"True," Vogsako said. "But just between you and me, we know what are silly superstitions and what are facts, eh? This dislike towards magic was mostly in our late Emperor Cumaremus. Our dear departed Princess Yukiel was a Charter Mage, though she wasn't allowed to study. A pity, if you ask me."

"Yes, a pity."

"Your daughter is a mage? I cannot recall."

"Yes, Ellimere is. Her husband is not."

"Mm. I know very little of this magecraft myself—no mages in my family, you see." He tapped at his bare forehead. "My granddaughter Odessa wanted to learn Free Magic, but I had my son pack her off to the military, the persistent little thing."

"I would've done much the same," Touchstone couldn't help adding.

"I personally have nothing against Free Magic," Vogsako said seriously, "But I did not want my grandchild causing trouble. She's a fiery spirit, and I love to indulge her, but not at the cost of my position, you understand, my lord."

Touchstone nodded.

The carriage rolled to a stop and a footman came to open the door. Touchstone stepped out as the servant lent the elderly advisor a hand. Walking along the well-paved street, Touchstone found himself standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down and across at a campus whose size was nearly that of a good-sized town.

Vogsako came up next to him. "This way, Lord Torrigan," and led him over to a hovering platform.

They descended on the platform and stepped off onto the wide path laid with large, irregularly shaped gray stones, which wound to the administrations building and entrance hall.

The building was grand and built of stone. Beyond it one could see more levels to the main building, towers, and a domed observatory. To either side of the path they walked there was beautiful landscaping. On the left they had just passed a small arbor of trees with flaming crimson leaves that were reflected in the round, shiny pond beside it. An ornately carved stone bench stood cold and empty, a few fallen leaves drifting across the seat.

Touchstone noted this with some confusion; it was, after all, still summer. Then he detected some Free Magic in the air and frowned.

"A student," Vogsako said briskly. "They like experimenting, the young ones."

Touchstone nodded.

The main hall was like a museum, displaying the works and achievement of successful mages the academy had produced. Touchstone admired the creations and plaques with mild interest. He was actually here to assess just how formidable these Orkairen sorcerers were. So far, to the sound of Vogsako's enthusiastic droning, Touchstone thought that those who disapproved of magic here in Orkaire just did so thinking it a waste of time.

Roughly thirty minutes later, Vogsako energetically led Touchstone out of the administrations building and onward into the campus grounds. Walking, Touchstone could see that the academy was made up of four adjoined main buildings around a large central courtyard.

The first, front-most building consisted of the entrance hall, administrative offices, and the large dining hall, all of which they had passed. The building to the left, Vogsako explained, contained dormitories of those students who stayed most of the year at the school, returning to their rather distant homes every so often. On the second story were the suites belonging to the professors, researchers, and other distinguished permanent residents of the academy.

The building in the very back was where most of the classrooms were, including a large indoor salle for weapons training when the weather was extremely harsh. Vogsako explained that soldier mages who stayed here most of the time had demanded a gym of sorts, so it was a recent addition. They headed towards that building.

There was a steady stream of academy students and other residents moving through the hallways, going in and out of rooms, up and down the stairs, and entering and leaving the elevators that took them to the different levels of the structure. On the second story were the workplaces of the academy residents, laboratories, and a room for archives. The third story contained an observatory where a giant, unfinished telescope (for stargazing) was constantly being worked on.

The building to the right had numerous empty rooms, a large greenhouse, and the colossal chamber where Tests took place.

"Tests?" Touchstone inquired.

"Both of the student evaluating sort and also experiments," Vogsako inserted.

"I would like to see."

"Gladly."

Touchstone thought that the old man's enthusiasm was almost bubbly now.

Vogsako pushed open the doors and almost instantly they stepped upon another one of those ascending platforms. They stopped and stepped off onto a balcony with railing and nets woven full of protective Charter marks.

"A student is being tested," Vogsako said in a proud, gesturing for Touchstone to look forward.

A young man with shoulder-length black hair held back by a headband was being wearily circled by three Free Magic creatures. One was undeniably a Stilken, another was a Ferenk, and finally a Jerreq. The young man drew his bow and fired at the Ferenk with a small explosion of golden sparks. There was the smell of singed fur, and the beast gave an anguished cry and bowled forward. The young man loosed another Charter infused arrow, this one grazing the Ferenk's side. The Stilken wailed, seeing an opening, and charged. The young man rammed his bow back into his quiver and sprang elbow blades, locking both of the Stilken's razors against his. The creature pushed him back, snarling. The young man ducked, sweeping at its spindly legs. The Stilken fell, but managed to slice at the young man's calf.

It was brutal. Touchstone watched with a morbid fascination. How could they test their students against creatures that the Old Kingdom locked up in the Library of the Clayr?

It took well over twenty minutes, but the battle finally ended with the young man victorious, collapsed on arena floor, bleeding from a dozen wounds. The Jerreq had gone over to feast on the fallen Ferenk, and so had not given the young man much of a fight; he had cut down the Stilken and shot the Jerreq with every last arrow in his quiver until it exploded in a shower of liquid metal.

Two sendings and a tall man descended to the arena. The sendings retrieved the young man, sprawled, moaning on the ground. The man congratulated the young mage on his success, stating that he was only the third in fifty years to attempt this testing.

Only the third. This made Touchstone unreasonably relieved. His heart was beating fast from watching the battle and he was still catching his breath when Vogsako led him off the balcony and onto a platform that traveled horizontally through the air.

"You would like to see the experiments?" Vogsako asked.

Touchstone nodded. The experiments were largely boring, consisting of men sitting around large contraptions and devices of metal, mostly concentrating and making them float or emit odd puffs of vapor and light. Touchstone tried to be attentive, but soon grew bored.

Walking along starkly lit white hallways on their way back to the courtyard, Touchstone and Vogsako came upon the young man from the arena. He was sitting on a bench, propped against the wall, swathed in bandages over his legs and torso, his arm in a sling. He was very pale beneath his mop of jet hair, and did not look entirely awake at the minute.

"Tell you a secret…" he was mumbling at the ceiling, barely loud enough to be heard. "This…is what I've always wanted. I ran away from Estwael for this. I…wanted to be a hero…not a Prince. They said they'd make a legend of me…" The young man laughed weakly. "He says…I am ready now… …'You will make…a world…Elyras'…" The young man seemed to fall asleep.

Touchstone scowled. Elyras…the atheling of the Old Kingdom's western neighbor Estwael. Elyras, who had been missing since he was twelve? Touchstone started towards the boy, but Vogsako placed a restraining hand on his arm.

"They say tests can make one quite disoriented," Vogsako said smoothly. "The last boy who did this thought he was Hedge the Sorcerer—tried to burn down the whole building before the Battle Mages came and knocked him out. Don't take the boy seriously—you know he is not Prince Elyras; they found Elyras' body two years ago."

[Any ideas as to who 'the last boy' was? -winks-]

Touchstone nodded slowly and allowed himself to be led away, though the sense of foreboding never left his mind.

---

Kagael managed to go to sleep back on the loft, but it was a shallow sleep, and dreamless. She woke when she heard the door open, and froze. She could tell right away from the soft footfalls that it wasn't Gwidhe. Kagael tried to breathe as softly as possible. The footsteps were coming close. They paused.

Kagael gasped as someone peered up at her. It was, though she was hardly in the mood to admit it, the most gorgeous person she'd ever seen. Large, pale purple eyes looked up questioningly from a serene face framed by long, pale blond hair. "Kagael, right?" the person asked. Kagael decided right away that she liked his voice, too.

"Please come down," he continued. "You can trust me."

"Why should I?" Kagael demanded, feeling bold. _Other than the fact that you're devastatingly beautiful…_

He smiled. Kagael felt lightheaded. "Well, I did have to key to Gwidhe's room," he said undauntedly.

Kagael scowled, though it was hard to scowl at someone with a face like that, looking at her with eyes like that. "Who are you?"

"Sidhegureth Ulseil, or more to the point, Gwidhe's elder brother and the Captain of this ship."

"You're…his brother?" Kagael was surprised, and that was an understatement.

"Hasn't he told you about me?"

"Well, no. He doesn't talk to me except to tell me what spoiled brat I am."

"That's too bad." Sidhegureth laughed, not unkindly, and reached up to help her down.

Kagael jumped down onto Gwidhe's bed, then onto the floor. The Captain was roughly a foot taller than her, and she had to tilt her head back in order to look him in the eye. Sidhegureth wore his elbow-length blond hair held back from his brow with a thin cord of braided blue. He wore a simple tunic of indigo and blue, open, and a long sword belted at his side. He was certainly good to look at and carried himself in a way that said he knew it, which, Kagael noted, was a quality he shared with his brother.

"What ought I to call you?" she asked.

He paused, then said, "Gureth's all right. My friends call me that."

Kagael wondered if she had some sort of disease. She couldn't recall ever blushing so much and so often.

"How's my brother been?" Sidhegureth asked.

__

He saved me last night and slapped me this morning. "Nice enough."

Sidhegureth's eyebrow quirked elegantly in an expression of gentlemanly concern. "He hasn't done anything—"

Kagael shook her head. "No! It's just…he's not the friendliest person I've met, if you know what I mean."

The Captain smiled. "I know what you mean. But you mustn't blame him."

Gwidhe chose this moment to burst in the unlocked door. His eyes were large and angry as he darted a quick glance toward Kagael, then glared vehemently at his brother. "Sidhegureth! What the hell are you doing in my room?"

Sidhegureth gestured towards Kagael, who stomped down the urge to back up a couple of steps. "Merely checking on the young lady. Really, there's no need to shout, little brother."

"Well, you don't barge into my room without permission!"

"Tsk, Gwidhe. As Captain of this ship I have access to all the rooms—"

"Don't pull rank with me, you—!"

"—and therefore I am granted to enter them whensoever I wish." Anyone other than Sidhegureth would have quailed at the look Gwidhe was shooting his way.

Gwidhe muttered something.

Sidhegureth merely nodded at him, coolly swept across the room, and left. "Kagael," he said at the door, "Your room has been cleaned, so you may return when you please."

Gwidhe turned as the door clicked shut to look at Kagael. "I don't know what you think of him, but don't compare me with my brother," he said in an unreadable tone.

"I think I've got a screaming crush on him," Kagael replied quite honestly.

"You—" Gwidhe started. "Go to your room!" he snapped, "and don't get seen."

Kagael edged past him meekly, and did as he said. He had told her not to compare him with Sidhegureth, but as she plopped down on her bed, she did just that. After all, how could one help but contrast Prince Charming with a violent jerk?

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Author's Note: Poor Kagy -pets her on the head- she seems to have a **weakness** for **pretty** people. Not that I **blame** her—**I** do, too. =). And if you're **wondering**, "**why** couldn't Kagael have read Gwidhe's dogtags the **other** **night** in the **Great** **Stickle** Wood?" That's because it was too **dark** to see, remember? Much less read the tiny print…

Oh, and in case I haven't mentioned it yet—don't think I have—**Touchstone** is 61 in my fic. **Sorry** for the **big** bore, but the academy visit was **somewhat** necessary.

Next: Things will **warm** **up** in Chapter Eight- **Ice**. (Lot's of action. I stake my life upon it.) But whether or not you'll get it depends upon if I get…**REVIEWS!**


	9. Eight: Ice

That last chapter wasn't very good, was it? -wilts- I read thru it afterwards and found, like, **ten** **million** **skadillion** **typos**!!! Also, it was kinda **boring**. Sowwy abowt dat, and for taking so **long** writing this chapter…

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DISCLAIMER: "Abhorsen", all names, places, and related indicia are the sole property of Garth Nix, whose work I hold in great admiration. The Ulseil brothers belong to Phil—erm, that is, Phyllis Nodrey. ; Orkaire belongs to me, too.

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CHAPTER EIGHT: Ice

__

That afternoon…

Sidhegureth knew he was asking for trouble not having spoken to his younger brother about his plans, but it seemed—after weighing the pros and cons—the best possible way to do it. Now he was having second thoughts.

He supposed some horribly intimidated lackey had revealed to Gwidhe the Captain's whereabouts. The Wing Commander barreled into the cockpit, startling the pilot so that Sidhegureth had never been so grateful that they had already landed.

"What the hell are we doing here? Your orders were to get us to the Clayr's Glacier posthaste, dammit, not make stops at anonymous islands within a hundred miles of that Charter-blasted capital Belisaere!"

Sidhegureth kept his face composed under the eyes of the unnerved pilot and, more importantly, his fuming brother. "Calm yourself, Lord Gwidhe," he said in an even voice. "We are merely putting in for provisions."

"Provisions," Gwidhe practically spat. "Huh. For some reason I don't believe you. Who's to bring the supplies, _Captain_?"

"A regular merchant from Calwyar."

Gwidhe's eyes narrowed. "That sounds too…questionable."

Sidhegureth looked him in the eye. "I'm not one to guess what your doubts are, brother, but I assure you, we are all patriots aboard this ship." He paused, then added, "Are we not?"

"Whatever." Gwidhe spun, a hand on the door. "Then again, I would very much like to meet this 'regular merchant' of yours."

.

Sidhegureth pointedly avoided looking at his brother's face when they met the 'merchant'. A merchant's ship was anchored at the bay and a motley crew of men were unloading and carrying things up to the _Cruzada_.

"Captain Kemilo," Sidhegureth saluted the man stepping down the gangplank.

"Hardly a captain when in the presence of yourself, Lord Gureth." The merchant captain swept a bow that Gwidhe decided was either too friendly or altogether mocking. And the man had just addressed his brother as 'Gureth'! The nerve…

Kemilo wasn't quite your image of a well to do merchant. A pirate was closer to the mark. His very wavy, shoulder-length ash-blond hair was more than a bit unruly and his clothes, while clean, could never be described as prim and proper. A scimitar of all weapons hung at his belt. One could easily see the Charter marks running along the blade because it was without a sheath. As if to complete the picture, the man even sported a black patch over his left eye.

"This is my younger brother, Lord Gwidhe, Wing Commander of the Citadel Fleet." Sidhegureth introduced to Kemilo, as was proper. Gwidhe frowned. It seemed his brother had intentionally stressed his title; the merchant captain's brow had jumped a little upon hearing it.

Kemilo bowed again to Gwidhe, who returned with a curt nod. After a while of polite exchanges between the merchant and his brother, Gwidhe decided that there was nothing too terribly shifty about the man.

"If you would kindly excuse me, I'll be returning to my rooms," Gwidhe said, turning on his heel and striding back to the _Cruzada_.

.

Kemilo carried the small talk until Gwidhe had disappeared into the silver ship.

"I cannot thank you enough for coming out of your way to meet me, Milo," Sidhegureth said gravely.

"It's not a problem," Kemilo told him with a careless smile. "Let's talk in my cabin, shall we? Though I suppose if your little brother's really all that they say he is, he'd send a few floatin' fireballs our way and end the crusade before it's started."

"Hush," Sidhegureth said needlessly. He followed the 'merchant' captain to his ship.

.

Little could be said of Kemilo's living quarters, but if anything, that it was the polar opposite of Sidhegureth's would suffice. Sidhegureth sat down on a simple wooden chair while Kemilo plopped down on a bed made of a worn mattress and various dull-colored cushions.

"I don't recall you tellin' me why exactly Uncle Sulumor decided to drag you into this mess," Kemilo started.

"No one dragged me into this mess—I took the initiative to begin this tiny movement, remember?" Sidhegureth said coolly.

Kemilo laughed grimly. "Yeah, I know that, and I'm not questionin' you, m'lord Gureth. Me and my men, we'll follow you the whole way through. What I'm askin' is, why did Prince Sulumor decide he wanted you to join his…task force?"

"He didn't say, and I knew better to ask." Sidhegureth heaved a heavy sigh, studying his hands folded in his lap. "You don't know what a fright he gave me when he gave me the order. I thought…perhaps we'd been discovered."

"And what if we are? You think we really make that much of a difference, Gureth? Can a pack of rebels stop the whole world fallin' down around their heads?"

"Do you, Kemilo?"

"I don't know, cap'n, I don't know. But it's worth a try."

"That's what I think." Sidhegureth looked up at his comrade through the long, pale locks framing his face. The shadows made him look grave. "I only know that I'm not being selfish, and that we're doing the right thing."

There was a moment of silence, then Kemilo peered out through the window and said, "My men are nearly done unloadin'; you'd better let me in on the next step."

Sidhegureth nodded. "Alright. I'll be in the Glaciers this time tomorrow, with the Citadel. You need to take your ship…"

---

Dawn came bright and bitterly cold, streaks of the palest pink creeping with painful slowness across the sky. It was summertime, but up on the highest peak where the wind never ceased in its dirge, the glaciers didn't acknowledge the idea of summer.

[Gack. Was that just hideously poetic or what?]

Then the sun rose and shone down on the ice, throwing off brilliant rays of purest light. The _Lechuza Cruzada_ coasted, a blinding mass of silver.

The ship then descended slowly into a shallow vale. It remained there, waiting.

.

"That's out of the question!" Gwidhe said sharply.

They were standing in the hallway—Gwidhe, Kagael, and Captain Sidhegureth. Kagael had, being her usual irrational self, wanted to go outside 'for fresh air'.

"It shouldn't be a problem if you bundle up," Sidhegureth said quietly. "Here, there's some thick coats I keep in the storage room, and boots."

"Thank you," Kagael said brightly.

"Fine," Gwidhe said, walking past them. "I won't argue with you. But if she meets her death out there, I'll be sure to let Noegduch know who to blame."

Kagael watched him go, slightly demoralized.

Sidhegureth half-closed his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. Whether it was because exasperation or that he found Gwidhe's attitude amusing, Kagael could not tell.

"You will be careful," he said as he led her down to the storeroom. It was not a question.

.

Kynned stood shivering in the compartment as the hatch slid shut. Kagael called a quick thanks, then turned away so that she would not be looking at the blinding silver surface of the ship. She was wearing goggles with lenses of smoked green glass, but although it protected her eyes from much of the snow's glare, it was still too bright to look at the sun reflecting off the silver.

The air outside was so cold it burned Kagael's lungs. But it felt good to be breathing out in the open rather than…than trapped inside the _Cruzada_. Kagael walked away from the ship, over towards a snowdrift that the wind had hardened into a frozen mound. The snow underfoot was hard and compact and Kagael moved steadily along.

Kagael had never liked snow much. She couldn't quite explain it past the fact that it just seemed to cover everything up. The snow marked a season that bled the warmth and color from the land. But up here in the Glaciers, she didn't suppose there was any color or warmth any time of the year.

She stopped, staring at the ground.

It was a hoof print, perfectly formed and not that deeply imprinted into the white ground. And even as she stared at it, the print vanished. Kagael blinked. There was more, a whole line of them leading slightly forward and to the right of her. Kagael took it to her head to follow them, and quick, for even as she watched, the ones closest to her were disappearing.

She walked, carefully but speedily across the snow. Her boots crunched slightly as they broke through the crusty hard surface.

A gust of wind hit her in the face then. It smelled of new leaves and forest-filtered sunlight, carrying a hint of the dampness around a woodland pool, and even as it warmed her cheeks the wind seemed to fill her eyes with stars. Kagael shook her head, apprehensive. What was that smell? It was like that of a Stilken's, but different.

The stars and the cloudiness left her vision as simply as the hoof prints had disappeared. Kagael looked up, and swallowed hard. She was hallucinating, or dreaming. She had to be.

The creature stared back at her with eyes deeper than the sea, eyes that were blue and silver at once and as cold as midwinter's breath even as they flowed and crackled with Free Magic. Its pale mane made the snow look dark, and its horn shamed fire with its brilliance and luster. The creature was tall and slender; the top of Kagael's head reached its shoulder. It moved with a liquid grace akin to that of sea foam, and when it opened its mouth, the sound it emitted was a songlike moan that made her think of the sea.

Kagael wiped a gloved hand across her eyes; the tears that had gathered there were not from the wind.

Abruptly, the magnificent creature turned and bounded away into the snow, leaving behind a fleeting trail of hoof prints.

"Wait!" Kagael choked, a cry that was wrenched out of her. But it was gone, along with the spring scent. Only the metallic tang of Free Magic remained, mockingly. Stubbornly, Kagael started in the direction that the strange beast had vanished into the snow.

She had to be dreaming, for now she stared at a grove of blue trees.

The air was alive, and even though it was the sparkling heat of Free Magic, Kagael could forget that. She wasted no time in going forward, pulling her scarf down away from her chin. Her boots left the hard snow and met the strange floor of the blue wood with a soft _fmp_—

—and she was thrown back several feet onto the ice. No sooner had she gotten to her feet did the force hurl her up and back again. Kagael landed, winded. Gasping, she levered herself up with her arms and her eyes grew wide.

Why was she seeing these things?!

It was…a…dragon…its silver scales a shifting mass of blinding light, throwing off the sun like the many facets of a diamond. It regarded her with eyes that, like the eyes of the beautiful horned beast, were far too wise to be animal or human. The dragon-creature put Kagael in mind of a mountain, but its grace… Kagael had never witnessed a mountain moving, but if there could be anything more emotive…or so terribly frightening.

The dragon raised a claw as though in greeting, and that claw was so huge that Kagael could have sat in it without a problem. She…she…heard the air_ cough_, and found herself hurled up and suspended in the air.

The air around her began to solidify, began freezing into ice. Kagael panicked, even as Gwidhe's shield suddenly vanished and the Charter flooded back into her mind. She grabbed for marks of melting and burning and striking, and they flew out accordingly, striking the thin but thickening wall of ice. In the beginning it worked quite well, and Kagael formed a chain of thawing spells and bound them with a master mark. But then she hurled it at the ever-present wall of ice…

It was like in her dream back at the house. The marks corroded, one after another. They evaporated into the very air.

__

Man.

Kagael jolted, physically and spiritually.

__

Mage.

"What?!" Kagael screamed with her voice and her mind. "What is it? Stop this! Please!"

__

My home. **My home.**

"What?" Kagael cried. "I don't know what you mean! Please let me go!"

**__**

Restore me.

Kagael was so cold now that it hurt, and she could barely breathe. 'I…I can't do what you ask…' she thought, not being able to speak any more. 'Let me…go…or I…will die…'

__

Die…

The voice held question; the word echoed on, on, and on. Kagael gasped for air. Terror gripped her heart like a vice even as the cold gripped her body, tightly.

__

Man…. Mage… knows **nothing** of the White Lady… and nothing of…

The ice around her seemed to soften. 'Thank you…' Kagael whimpered, wanting it too badly to consider the softening might be due to her imagination.

The dragon seemed taken aback by this.

All of a sudden, Kagael fell to the ground with a crunch of snow. Confused, she peered up towards the dragon, just in time to see it fluidly shift its bulk to avoid a ball of flame rolling across the air. The fireball collided with the snowdrift and it disappeared in a hiss of steam.

"Kagael! Get behind me!"

"Gwidhe?" Kagael scrambled to her feet.

Gwidhe stood out on the snow in full battle attire, complete with red-enameled metal armor plates. His hands, or rather the black leather gloves were covered in globes of flame. The fires grew—he joined them—and cast the Free Magic inferno at the silver dragon.

__

I am **merciful**.

Having made that known, the dragon stepped straight into the path of the fireball. Its scales consumed it. It barely flinched.

Gwidhe's claret eyes widened. Kagael dove behind him as a shower of ice flew their way. Fire engulfed Gwidhe's entire body like a shield and protected him from the frozen blades, acting much like an arrow ward.

Kagael reached into the Charter and pulled forth the brightest marks of flame and attack. She hadn't been taught any chains like this, but she improvised, hoping for the best, and sealed it with the master mark for thawing. She cast the seething spell up and over Gwidhe's flames and at the dragon.

Gwidhe drew his rapier; a wreath of flames danced around the Charter sword. He used it as a sort of channel for his fireball spell, and, stepping forward, performed a thrust that sent the Free Magic as well as waves of Charter flame slicing forward, left, and right through the air.

The Free Magic did nothing to the dragon, but the Charter shattered its scales. Kagael's unrehearsed spell followed, trailing the many marks of the chain like a comet's tail. The Charter spell glanced off the sides of the dragon, but the scales it touched began to melt.

__

I am merciful.

The dragon turned and the air shimmered, rippled. It was a large patch of air and it seemed to seethe and swell like a boiling liquid. Then the air exploded and the dragon was gone.

Cold and warm rushed over and into Kagael at once and she fell against Gwidhe's back. He spun and gripped her upper arm, steadying her.

"What in the world did you do out here?" Gwidhe demanded. "Where did the dragon come from and how did you break my pitfall barrier?"

"I don't know," Kagael said honestly. Her voice was scratchy from casting the marks and her throat felt tight and aching from the cold. Her whole body felt like it'd been frozen and suddenly thawed. Well, it had. "I don't know." She bit her lip to stop it trembling. "But please don't take the Charter away now..."

His grip loosened slightly. "I won't."

Kagael found herself bombarded by Charter marks of warmth. She flinched slightly, but was grateful for them. "Thank you," she said.

Gwidhe gave her a slight push in the direction of the _Cruzada_. "I knew it was a bad idea to let you come out here. You should've listened to me."

"Sorry."

"Hurry it up."

Kynned had been watching for their return. He opened the hatch and let them in. Mihir was there as well, looking anxious.

"Gwidhe!" he exclaimed as they stepped out into the hallway. "What was that?"

"One of the Lord Prince's entities, loose. I'd thought at first it might be something from the bloody Clayrs' Library, but they definitely could not have had something that…big."

"You defeated it?" Mihir said expectantly.

Gwidhe snorted. "I barely nicked it. It was feeling merciful, and left on its own, but not before it tried to freeze Kagael into a block of ice."

Mihir's eyes widened with shock. "What was it?"

"The books call it dragon. Big, silver-armored beast." Gwidhe sighed noisily. "Don't ask me to describe it—I've got an almighty headache."

"Oh, erm, right."

Mihir looked at Kagael, who was pale and shivering. "Lunch's ready," he said as if on inspiration. "I was helping out in the galley, and I cooked something special…?"

Gwidhe gave him a sketch of a smile.

"I…think I'd like a nap," Kagael said. It came out in a hoarse whisper.

"I'll walk you up," Gwidhe said. "In case you pass out on the way 'cause it looks like that's just what you might do."

Kagael nodded and followed him up the stairs. She went into her room and sat down on the bed. She tossed her coat, scarf, goggles, gloves, and extra leggings in a pile on the chair. Gwidhe went to get her pillow and blankets from his room.

When Gwidhe returned Kagael had fallen asleep. "Why me…" he muttered, tossing her covers over her. He lifted her head and slid her pillow into place before setting her back down.

Gwidhe yanked off his gloves with his teeth and stepped out into the hall. He was going to have lunch with his brother and they were going to have a talk. And Gwidhe was going to do most of the talking, and possibly a great deal of swearing. Because stupid inconveniences like the one this morning could only be allowed by incompetent fools.

---

A menacing body of dark cloud loomed over the _Lechuza Cruzada_, blotting out the sun. Slowly, calculatedly, wisps of levitation magic dispersed and the hulking mass of the Citadel descended into the valley. It hung, suspended just above the silver ship.

Like so much… …waiting.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Author's Note: Someone asked me how in the **world** I came up with such a **weird** name as '**Gwidhe**'. Heehee. This is how— Hedwig… gedwih… gidweh… giwdeh… gwideh… **gwidhe**!

When I started this story, I planned for Gwidhe to be an **evil** **psycho** like **his** **dad** and was thinking I should **scramble** **up** the name 'Hedge'. That proved too **hard** to do, so I decided to scramble up the name 'Hedwig'. (Which, btw, if ur interested, means 'goddess of war')

You're **welcome** to **ask** **questions** in your **reviews** because (1) I **like** answering questions; 'tis fun and (2) I don't get many reviews so I can answer them all with **no** **problem**.

Next: Kagael will meet the **evil** **mastermind** behind the horrifying plan to **unravel** **the** **Charter**. A strange and **wonderful** **secret** will be **revealed** to her…but is it **really** as wonderful as it seems? Kagy'll also meet some **others** like herself who have **copious** amounts of **Free** **Magic** in their **blood**. But what part are they to play? **Stick** **around** and have **_patience_**! I can only type an average of 50 wpm, ya know. (I hit 89 wpm once…and **never** did again -_sigh_-)


	10. Nine: Zodiac Vision

A/N: I always thought of the nine Bright Shiners as something of a zodiac, so I hope that explains the title of this chapter.

DISCLAIMER: "Abhorsen", all names, places, and related indicia are the sole property of Garth Nix, whose work I hold in great admiration.

* * *

CHAPTER NINE: Zodiac Vision

I'll sing you a song of long ago...

Mihir had finished packing up his things and was about to join the rest of the crew disembarking the _Lechuza Cruzada_. He was sitting on his bed, completing the last tie on his bag, when a snatch of song reached his ears. Someone was humming, someone in his room. Frowning, Mihir got to his feet and walked towards the door.

"How did this get here?"

Gwidhe's little green figurine was sitting upright on the floor. Mihir hadn't recalled Gwidhe bringing it into his room. Squatting down, Mihir reached out to pick it up—

—and found himself stooping with one hand against the warm, furry back of a large black mongrel.

Mihir took a few steps back, composing himself. He got a good look at the dog. It was the same one from that night behind the Roost of the Ghostbird in Qyrre. It was black and tan with a long snout and pointed ears. A short tail wagged in a friendly manner. And it spoke.

"Greetings, Seer."

Its voice was a woman's voice, casual, deep, rich and friendly. She cocked her head. "You wonder why I'm here?"

Mihir's brow furrowed with perplexity. "Yes, but more importantly, I'd like to know who you are."

The Dog chuckled. "Oho, you're a sharp one."

"You're one of the First Kindred."

The Dog grinned. "You could say that, but it would be incorrect. I am not _one_ I am but a fraction. Still, do boost my declining morale and call me Kibeth."

"Kibeth...Walker."

"You know now, do you? Now as to why I am here, why, I am your vision, so watch and listen well. I am one here on behalf of my Kindred; the Balagannoye; the Family that is Not. What is now often called by the Old Kingdom name, the Great Charters. I Walk before and am among the forerunners, as Kibeth has always been.

"We are among you. Ranna the Sleeper, Mosrael the Waker, Dyrim the Speaker, Belgaer the Thinker, Saraneth the Binder, Astarael the Weeper, Yrael the Singer, and even Orannis the Destroyer, although he lies asunder. Our reason should be quite clear."

Mihir's eyes narrowed, half in disbelief, half in antagonism. "You and your Kindred... Then you have the power to stop us, all of us. What are you waiting for?"

"There is no need to," replied the Dog, "not yet. If you can all learn for yourselves, then it is better than any comprehension we Charters may force upon you."

Who placed this creature among us? Mihir thought agitatedly. Gwidhe could not have known—his friend the zealot would never have allowed it. Mihir wondered what he should do now. Was Kibeth about to take him captive, or perhaps control his limbs and make him—

"You are not cooperating," the Dog said sharply, a reprimanding tone reminiscent of the one his mother used when he was an unruly child. "I am going to tell you a story in another time, so it shan't take your time here."

"What then must I do?" Mihir asked suspiciously

"Nothing out of the ordinary. You are going to get off the _Lechuza Cruzada_ and catch up with Gwidhe, as you were planning to. Then you will See."

Saying so, the large black dog became the green statuette. Tentatively, Mihir stepped forward to pick it up. It vanished as soon as the tip of his middle finger came into contact with the smooth, cool stone.

Shaking his head, Mihir walked back to the bed and picked up his bag. He gave the room a quick once-over before going out into the hall and shutting the door.

He was among the last to leave the ship. The cold air struck his face and made him shut his eyes briefly before opening them in a slit. He was standing on the stone platform that formed the 'ground' of the Citadel. It was a dark green-black stone quarried far, far up north in the mountains that formed the border between Orkaire and the barbaric country of Orovslaya. The platform of the airborne bastion was slightly larger than an Ancelstierren football field, extending thirty-some feet to either side of the actual structure.

Mihir hastened to the entrance of the Citadel, overtaking two crewmembers who were joking with each other, obviously not feeling the cold quite so badly in their uniform jackets. Mihir stepped into the warmth of the main chamber with evident relief. There was a company of Citadel soldiers in the far end of the chamber arrayed around before Captain Sidhegureth and Gwidhe. Kagael, looking rather small and frightened, stood by the entrance to a hall.

Sidhegureth saluted and the soldiers responded, then parted to let him through. About twelve of the soldiers standing to one side and whose uniforms illustrated that they were Gwidhe's squad dropped to one knee and greeted their commander. To Mihir, it looked as though the younger Ulseil bit back a smile.

Mihir stumbled a little as someone half-bumped him from behind. Mihir stepped towards the wall. It was a sandy-haired young man, one of the _Cruzada_'s crew. Daven. Mihir remembered that he used to be in Gwidhe's wing but had been expelled and demoted after a certain incident involving the Royal Advisor's granddaughter.

"Look at them fawn," Daven muttered, staring towards Gwidhe and his squadron.

"Watch it!" Mihir said heatedly.

Daven swept past to join the rest of the _Cruzada_ crew disappearing past the chamber after their captain. Mihir glared at his back a minute, then walked over towards Gwidhe.

Gwidhe turned as Mihir approached. "Mihir!" he said, smiling, "Could you take the girl to the bridge room? Noegduch wants to see my brother and I in the command room."

Mihir was opening him mouth to answer when he felt his muscles seize to work. His eyes widened and unfocused, a light from within his head wiped out his sight—his bodily sight—while his Sight awakened. _Is this it…?_ he thought with apprehension. _Is this Kibeth's vision?_

"Mihir?" Gwidhe stared at his friend a moment, then realized. "He's in a trance," he said, half to himself, half to his battle team behind him. Kagael was watching the young Seer with a mixture of concern and fascination.

"Noegduch can wait," Gwidhe said with a determined frown. "I want to be here for this vision."

Mihir felt himself thrown out of the world. Even that wasn't quite the way to describe it. Although no part of himself was aware of still being in that room, with Gwidhe and others, it also did not seem as if he'd traveled in any way. Altogether, it was a feeling not unlike astral projection, and he'd been projected into the Charter.

"Where…am I?" Mihir croaked. He hadn't realized he'd been afraid.

Hush. We are traveling. It was the Dog.

Mihir felt the sensation of floating up, and then breaking the surface. Now he found himself shaking off traces of watery gold. Next the metallic trace of Free Magic filled everything: vigor, and heat. Just when he felt…himself beginning to burn, all feeling, all perception desisted.

He walked a field of air, filled with some song he forgot. Imagined grass of silver and gold curled around his toes and everything he saw seemed not to be there. Old spirits of the field and forest, water, wood, and air… Ships sailing on a gray-green sea, their sails golden…

The sun was setting while the moon rose. They were suspended—two spheres of gold together at the sea's rim. The water was molten…

A white creature burst out of the sea foam. It was long and serpentine with glittering scales of a pearly hue. Its mane rippled in the wind, and the very wind was a living thing. The creature sailed. It sailed on the air and wove its long body in swimming, rippling motions.

Everything was so beautiful, so sweet, so bitter, and so perilous. Mihir scarcely dared to breathe. Kibeth appeared beside him, at first glance a large black dog, but at a closer look the black of her body was the infinite colorful darkness of the universe.

See my Sister? Astarael was happy once.

The white creature was a Dragoness. She bugled, a metallic, free, and gorgeous sound that filled him with happiness even as it urged him away.

Out of the sea burst a second creature, as white as the first but not so bright. Its hooves were of crystal and blinding to behold. Its horn was a miniature star, a silver band at its base. It gamboled across the shore. It ran like the wind.

Saraneth was the freest of creatures. She could not be bound. What she must do to others…that is what makes her so stern now.

The unicorn tossed her head in defiance—and accordance—with both everything and nothing in the world. Mihir watched from above on the grassy plateau, and wanted to fall to his knees.

"What am I here for?" he asked in a voice that was not a voice; like everything else around him it wasn't the sense of 'real' that he was used to.

I told you, Seer. You are here to See.

So Mihir watched. After a while, he began seeing poetry in the random clouds and hearing voices in the sighing waves. The grasses danced and the breezes laughed. "_I'm going crazy_," he decided. "_My mind is being consumed by chaos_."

Yes, murmured the voice of Kibeth. _That is what this world was. It was chaos—or Free Magic, if you still wish me to use the politically correct term._ She chuckled, her sarcasm plainly incorrigible.

"And Free Magic is what the world will be again," Mihir said stubbornly.

That is what you think now that you truly want, said the Dog, and her voice held pity. _Then let me tell you this—it was you, humans, the Third Kindred, who chose to end the chaos. And we the Charters helped you Chart the chaos. We bound it back with the Charter. We wove, and we gave you sanity._

Mihir was silent, calculating.

Yes, the Dog continued. _Sanity, and reality, and memory. Dreams and waking, words and thought, love and death and song and destruction. All these we used, fibers of ourselves, to knit the Great Charter._

What a sacrifice we made to fashion this world. And did we keep it? No. We passed on, leaving our little brothers and sister, the Second and Third Kindred…it was to you_ we left the keys to mastery. Marks, words, _names_. They hold all the power over us now. You ought to be thankful to live in this safety that took more than time and strife to make. But no._

You are very ungrateful.

"I couldn't have known," Mihir said mutedly. He looked away from the sky and the sea, shutting his eyes tightly against the overwhelming spectrum.

I have already spoken enough to put the Speaker himself to shame, Kibeth chuckled dryly, _But tell me this. What do you hope to achieve by unraveling the Charter?_

"We are going to set…the world free." He choked out. He thought he caught the Dog muttering something in reply that resembled 'you're going to set the world on fire?' in laughing tones, but once again he could only hear the beautiful, sweet cacophony of the un-world around him.

Hmm, said the Dog at last. _Then you go ahead and do just that. I will only tell you the price of your…desire and leave you to think on it:_

Memory. The price of chaos is to forget.

Then the vision ended.

Mihir returned to reality with the simple action of blinking. He found himself facing Gwidhe, who had his hands on Mihir's shoulders supporting him.

Mihir wanted to say something, but he could not think at all, much less speak.

"How do you feel?" Gwidhe asked. His scarlet eyes were bright with curiosity and concern.

"Mm…fine," Mihir managed. Gwidhe's hands squeezed his shoulders once then let go. Kagael was still watching him, wide-eyed; he supposed she'd never seen someone in the spell of the Sight before.

"**General Noegduch—**" Everyone's head snapped up as the magnified voice boomed through the room. "—**once again requests that Wing Commander Gwidhe Venyeiya Ulseil attend to him in the command room. This is an order.**"

Gwidhe shook his head and turned to Mihir apologetically. "I'll have to go. Noegduch's probably seriously pissed." He dismissed his battle unit.

"Good luck," Mihir said after him. The words were coming easier now. He felt Kagael come up to his side, which reminded him that he still had to take her over to the bridge room. Right now, what he wanted to do was collapse into bed and sleep, then wake up and do some serious thinking. But he made himself turn around and lead the way for Kagael.

Kagael couldn't help noticing that Mihir seemed extremely drawn and silent as he walked. She supposed that having the vision must have drained him terribly, but she couldn't help feeling as though he knew something that she should know as well.

"The Disreputable Dog," she said suddenly, and he stopped in his tracks.

"Have you…have you heard of her?" Kagael continued in a hurry. "She's an incarnation of Kibeth the Walker, which, I don't know if you've heard of it, the third Great Charter, and—"

"..takes the form of a large black and tan mutt." He faced her, his large, dark eyes grave and alarming in the shadow of his long lashes. "Yes, I know. She brought me the vision."

"O-oh," Kagael said. "I-I just wondered."

"Friend of yours?"

"No. She loved my mother, though," Kagael told him quietly.

"I see. Come on, this way." Mihir pushed open a set of iron double doors to a room with more windows than wall.

Kagael nodded and entered. As Mihir stepped back into the hall and the doors swung shut after him, she turned. "Tell me your vision sometime?"

"Sure," he said, and she thought he sounded tired now. Then the doors closed with a faint click.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Author's Note: The reason this chapter took so long was…well, there were several reasons. Firstly, school started and I got **REALLY** busy. Secondly, I thought, "this is bad writing" and "no more bad writing", so I kind of thought of **quitting** this fic for a while. Finally, my family is in the middle of a **big** move—we've just moved into our new house **today**! So, I hope you understand. I apologize for the monstrous delay, and I'll just say, **don't** expect frequent updates from this girl.

And for anyone who was _hopelessly_ confused by my use of "Balagannoye", here's a quick **key**:

Balagannoye Bright Shiners

LOL. I'm not trying to make you sound like morons—just trying to be very **considerate**, is all.


	11. Ten: Receiving the Destroyer

Let's have a nice, big round of applause for Janet S., my first flamer! -

And now here's that chapter that I meant to post simply AGES ago… **Kagael is 15 years old, btw**; Sameth erringly says that she is 16 in Chapter 6.

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DISCLAIMER: "Abhorsen", all names, places, and related indicia are the sole property of Garth Nix, whose work I hold in great admiration. The Ulseils, Venyeiyas, and Orkaire belong to me.

* * *

CHAPTER TEN: Receiving the Destroyer

Lirael sat at the table with her hands clasped before her, fingers of flesh and those of organic gold entwined. Her grave dark eyes were strangely distant, and her hair obscured a face that was pale yet fevered and bloodless lips pressed tight to form a thin line. Sweat beaded at her nose and brow, and it did not take a careful observer to see that she was shaking.

There were a number of sorcerers in the room with Lirael, watching her. The one standing closest to the bare table and Lirael had her bell bandolier draped over his left arm; in his right hand he held Saraneth.

"That will be all for now," the sorcerer with the bells spoke, his voice toneless. "Stop your struggling."

"How dare you…order me?!" a voice crackled from Lirael's throat. It was not her voice, and it sounded indignant—beyond indignant. It seethed and roiled with an anger that rippled the stillness of the room itself.

"I ask you not to struggle," the sorcerer repeated, and his voice showed unease as he rang Saraneth. The air filled with its commanding knell.

Lirael panted hoarsely and tendrils of smoke were emitted from between her parted lips, came curling from her nostrils as blind, frightened eyes watered, reddening. Her hands skittered across the cold surface of the table as sweaty fingers tried to gain a hold on the smooth wood; a separate force within her prevailed, however, and the unwilling hands moved to clench the table's edge.

"Fools!" the entity within her growled. A portion of the table splintered; blood mixed with the sweat on Lirael's fingertips. "I cannot be contained in the body of the one who clove me in two! I will destroy her like the last one, and then I will destroy all of _you_!" The voice was writhing now, and the Abhorsen convulsed, hyperventilating and discharging more smoke.

"Pity, Orannis," said a new voice from the doorway. "Are you still dreaming your feverish dreams?"

"You!" the Destroyer shrieked. Smoke billowed and Lirael's body stiffened, hands clenching painfully tight. Lines of blood formed on her palms, running down her wrists. "You were the one who woke me from my slumber 'neath the hills!"

"Yes, that's right," rejoined Prince Sulumor. "It was I."

"When…when I destroy this body, I will kill you…I will kill you and rend your soul asunder! Then my hounds will lacerate those fragments still further until such that even the strongest of the Dead could not make the limping journey through the Gates!" Steam and smoke poured, swirling, to fill the room, which grew intensely hot.

Sulumor remained unperturbed. He even stepped into the infernal chamber. Not a single drop of sweat was upon his brow, while the others in the room were fairly roasting. "Then I apologize, Orannis, for I must disappoint you further," the Prince of Orkaire declared, his voice cloudless and piercing through the smoke. "We have prepared many strong mages in which to host you until the time comes to sacrifice you for the breaking of the Charter—"

"Release me, mortal, and _I_ will break the Charter!"

"That is what I intend to do. However, I do not desire the world to erupt in flames like in your dreams." Sulumor smiled and spoke a spell. It was unmistakably Free Magic, yet the scent of new leaves and cold wind permeated the steamy air. "I will cover the world in springtime and snow.

"But as for now, Orannis, do not think that your anger intimidates me. I will not allow you to extinguish your current host, or the next, for they are extremely valuable specimens of power wielders. Waste not, want not, as they say."

Orannis could only utter shrieks of rage. The room was very cold now; ice rimed the broken edge of the table. "You will fail…" It cried, livid but helpless. "You will fail!"

"Mage Vogsako Kuemata," Sulumor addressed the sorcerer with the bells. "Take Goldenhand out in the snow to cool off. I have wasted enough time here. The Ulseils have returned and I have need to speak with them."

"Immediately, Your Highness." The sorcerer sheathed the bell in his hand and reached up to wipe the cold sweat from his hooded face before it froze.

"And when you are finished you might like to see you granddaughter? Odessa was recently conscripted as part of the Citadel crew."

Vogsako was pulling the trembling Lirael to her feet. "Yes, I suppose—" he stopped as the Abhorsen said something in a broken voice. "What was that?"

Lirael, through her haze of pain, had caught a bit of what Sulumor was saying. "…Daughter…" she choked. "My daughter…" A shudder ran through her body as she drew a raspy breath and she coughed violently, almost collapsing.

"The woman's burning up," Vogsako commented, pulling her out of the chair.

"Hurry, then, and get her outside. I've got to go." Sulumor left briskly down the hallway, headed for the command room to meet with General Noegduch and the Ulseil brothers.

Vogsako, still strong despite his years, half-dragged, half-carried, and made good time getting the Abhorsen out of the Citadel. The moving castle had been anchored over the glaciers. It was now taking off, east, towards the sea. A thin layer of snow had formed on the black stone platform outside, and Vogsako lowered Lirael onto it. He alerted one of the patrols to the fact that she was there, then reentered the fortress.

Lirael lay unmoving in the snow. Her breath came shakily and her eyes were closed. She turned her head slightly to press her burning cheeks to the snow. "Kagael," she whispered. "Nicholas…Daniel." Tears overflowed and froze stiffly on her lashes.

---

Kagael could see through the tall windows that the Citadel was on the move. Jagged formations of ice grew distant as the moving castle gained altitude. She sighed against the glass, misting up a patch. Quite suddenly, the doors to the bridge room swung open. Kagael turned, expecting Mihir or Gwidhe.

It was a young man, but he was a stranger. He had shoulder-length black hair and very bright blue eyes. He wasn't tall—only about Kagael's height. She thought he might be Estwaelan. "Hello," the young man said. "Are you Kagael Abhorsen?"

Kagael nodded. Who was he?

"I'm Elyras," he said, smiling. "I'm a mage, too." He sounded proud, happy, excited to be there. Elyras peered out the windows. "I see we're on the move again. We should be out on the sea soon."

"Where are we headed?" Kagael asked.

"Our next stop is Gjoa Haven, in two days. All the water and islands beyond that point will be Uncharted."

"Uncharted?"

"Well, you know. Out of the Charter." Elyras said a little impatiently.

"You mean the Charter doesn't exist beyond Gjoa Haven?"

Elyras frowned. "Don't you know?"

"…I've only just arrived. I hardly know what's going on," Kagael said quietly. "I don't know why I'm here."

Elyras looked at her, silent. Then he said, "Oh." There was a slightly awkward pause, wherein he tried to decide what to say. "I've been here for three years now," he said finally. "I wasn't born a mage, you know," he continued, gaining confidence as he spoke. "I was spirited away at twelve and brought to the academy of Orkaire. I don't know what they did, but one day I woke up, and I could feel the Charter at the back of my head…" he trailed off.

"Anyway, about the Uncharted," he recommenced brightly, "It hasn't always been that way. It was far from where mages actually wielded Charter Magic, so the Charter was weak. Lord Sulumor traveled there and found a point where…" Elyras gestured vaguely.

"Threads?" Kagael prompted, tilting an eyebrow.

"Yes, where separate strands could be made out of the giant weaving that is the Charter."

"I don't understand," Kagael said, unable to picture it.

"Don't worry," Elyras said. "It'll all be clear soon enough."

Kagael frowned. She wasn't sure she wanted it to.

"Come with me," Elyras said, pulling open the doors. "I'm to take you to your room."

She followed him out into the hallway, and then down many more. In her mind, the interior of this Citadel was beginning to resemble a catacomb. It was extremely large, and most surely required an enormous crew to run.

"Mostly mages," Elyras told her when she asked, "though we do have scores of engineers down below."

Kagael decided to ask more; Elyras seemed so naively friendly and willing to answer. "Speaking of mages, are there others here, you know, like you and me?"

Elyras nodded. "I thought you would at least know that," he said. "Your mother, Goldenhand, and Lady Sabriel are here."

Kagael stumbled. "They're here..? Where?"

She must've gone pale or wide-eyed, or both. Elyras frowned a little. "Don't look so frantic," he said, stopping. "I assure you, they're safe. Lord Sulumor won't let any of us die."

"Die?" Kagael's voice was beginning to resemble a whimper. "What… Are they hurting Mother and Aunt Sabriel?"

"My goodness, no! The sorcerers wouldn't hurt us!" Elyras sounded a bit indignant. "Don't fret, Kagael. I'm sure they'll let you see your mother and aunt soon."

Kagael shook her head. "No, no…don't you see? Something terrible is going on! This Lord Sulumor, he's the disowned elder prince of Orkaire and he's using us for something. Gwidhe Ulseil burned down Navis and they used it as a lure for Mother. He kidnapped me. Don't you get it, Elyras? You were kidnapped when you were twelve. We're all…tools for Orkaire in some plot to destroy the Charter and—"

She was cut short and rammed against the wall by an unseen force. Kagael looked up, mouthing soundlessly at the blue-eyed boy wielding Free Magic to obliterate her words.

Elyras' face had changed, his bright eyes now dark with anger. "You must be unwell," he said, his tone bland. "I don't know why else you would say such things, but in any case I can't let you speak of Lord Sulumor this way. He is the promised one come to lead us to a pure, new world. And Lord Ulseil is an example of what we mages should strive to be.

"Let's get you to your room now; you appear to need some rest." With that, he pivoted and continued walking, only turning to look back at the corner to see that she followed.

Kagael couldn't think straight as she hurried after Elyras. Nothing here was what it first seemed. She worried terribly after her mother and aunt. Who were these sorcerers? And Gwidhe…an exemplary mage? What sort of society looked up to a sadistic freak?

Tears of frustration burned in Kagael's eyes, and she blinked them away. Helpless and uninformed, that's what she was. Helpless.

---

A pounding awakened her in the middle of the night. Kagael scrambled out of the covers just as the door to her chamber opened. A man in dark ceremonial dress stood framed in the doorway, the lighted hallway behind him making his hooded face hard to discern.

"Kagael Abhorsen," he spoke, and from his voice she could tell he was an elderly man. "Come with me."

"What for?" she asked.

"To see your mother," he replied, "now."

Kagael was dressed in a nightgown, so she reached for her clothes folded up on the bedside chair.

"You won't need that," the robed man said. "We haven't any time to waste."

"Is something the matter with Mother?" Kagael asked, hurrying to the door.

The man rang Kibeth then, drawing the bell from the folds of his robes. Kagael found herself sprinting down the hallway before him, her feet seeming to know the way.

She stopped, finally, upon entering a room that was burning hot. She was vaguely aware that Gwidhe was in there, too, conferring with a tall, dark-haired man. But Kagael's eyes were riveted upon the figure crouched against the far wall beyond the panel of glass, which separated the room into two.

"Mommy?" she cried, running forward. The woman's eyes were closed, and jets of steam flowed from her nose and mouth as she took laborious breaths. Her lips were cracked and bleeding. "What have you done to her?!" Kagael turned to shriek at Gwidhe and the dark-haired man.

"Mage Vogsako," the dark-haired man said without taking his gaze off Kagael's frenetic face. "It will be any moment now. Prepare the girl for the transfer, quickly."

"What have you done to my mother?!" Kagael wailed as Lirael convulsed, then began to retch. Silvery liquid trickled from the Abhorsen's mouth, leaving burns.

The elderly man in dark robes who had come to Kagael's room now took her by the wrist and began pulling her through the door in the glass panel. More robed men came, dragging Kagael past her mother to a cot nailed against the wall. She was strapped down, screaming. The commanding clang of Saraneth filled her head and her limbs went limp. A terrible pain started in the hollow of her throat as something sharp jabbed into her. Kagael choked back a cry.

As her vision went black with the tinkling chimes of Ranna, she could feel a burning intensity flowing through her body like blood. _I'm dying_, Kagael thought with certainty. _I'm burning up._

Gwidhe watched the sorcerer's feed the spirit of Orannis into Kagael's blood.

"I don't believe it," he remarked to Prince Sulumor as the girl finally went still. "You'd think that the transfer would kill Kagael."

"Hmm," Sulumor responded. "That went incredibly smoothly. But then, Goldenhand's daughter has enormous aptitude for containing Free Magic, more so than Lirael and Sabriel combined. Perhaps with this Kagael we could spare young Elyras."

"It's uncanny," Gwidhe said, shaking his head as he moved over to the glass. "Kagael seemed like such a wimpy mage to me."

"You contradict yourself," Sulumor chuckled. "You only just told me this morning that she required the strongest shield you've ever had to construct."

Gwidhe grunted, choosing not to answer. He stepped through the glass panel, a Free Magic flame bobbing in his hand. The sorcerers moved slightly away from the cot as the young mage approached. Unceremoniously, Gwidhe tossed the flame at Kagael.

An intense wave of heat energy reflected back at him and Gwidhe found his breath knocked out of him as he was battered against the glass wall. He staggered to his feet and turned.

Kagael had pulled herself up into a sitting position. She had her head in her hands and her shoulders heaved with each breath. Finally, she seemed to have gained some control of herself; she lowered her shaking hands from her face.

"Leave me alone," she said in a raspy, sobbing whisper. "Stop hurting me!" She stumbled from the cot as Gwidhe stared, and crawled across the icy floor to where Lirael lay, comatose, in her corner. Kagael placed her arms around her mother as best she could. Then she lost consciousness.

---

The next morning after breakfast, Mihir went to see Gwidhe in his room. He knocked on the door and a ginger-haired young woman opened it.

"Odessa!" Mihir exclaimed with mild surprise. "I see you got General Noegduch to give a position on board."

Odessa smiled. "Why you sound surprised, Mihir. Did you doubt I'd get that position?"

Mihir laughed. "Not at all. You're the most assertive person I know, second to Gwidhe."

Mihir entered Gwidhe's room and found him sitting on his bed, fiddling with the green statuette of Kibeth. Mihir had a slight start from seeing it, but managed to shove the feeling away. He wasn't ready to talk about that with his friend. Not yet.

Gwidhe looked up with a wry sort of smile. "Morning." He looked tired, as though he hadn't slept well. Also, his tunic was sleeveless so Mihir could see that there were bruises on his left arm.

"What happened?" Mihir asked, looking at the bruises as he took a seat on the bed next to Gwidhe. Odessa shut the door and pulled the chair over from Gwidhe's desk and sat down.

Gwidhe glanced at his arm and made a face. "Kagael," he said shortly.

"What?" Mihir let out an unbelieving chuckle. "_She_ did that to you?"

"We transferred the Destroyer last night," Gwidhe explained in a tired tone.

"Already?" Mihir looked concerned. "Is Kagael all right?"

"She's absolutely fine," Gwidhe replied. "Went right to sleep afterwards. Well, after she threw me against the wall with Free Magic. Acted like nothing was wrong; you wouldn't be able to tell there was a malevolent deity possessing her body."

"You did say she had a lot of potential as a mage," Odessa chipped in.

"Did I?" Gwidhe frowned.

"Anyway, like I was saying before Mihir knocked, you should either try to get some sleep or at least eat something," Odessa sighed.

"You haven't eaten yet?" Mihir inquired. "You're not feeling well, are you?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't take good care of yourself," Odessa observed offhandedly.

"Will you two stop badgering me?" Gwidhe exclaimed in a sudden burst of temper. "Sometimes you make me really glad I never knew a mother."

Odessa winced at his outburst. "Sorry," she said. "You know I really missed you, and I didn't get to see you yesterday, so I thought I could talk to you this morning."

"We'll come back later," Mihir suggested tactfully, though Gwidhe's words had hurt him. His friend had been orphaned at a young age, and it was Mihir's mother who had raised him like her own son while his older brother Sidhegureth was away at the military academy. Mihir and Gwidhe had grown up like brothers.

"No," Gwidhe said, shoulders slumping. "I'll come find you two for lunch." His tone was apologetic.

"All right then," Odessa said. She followed Mihir out of the room.

"You shouldn't take it personally," Mihir said to Odessa as they walked down the hall. "He's really glad to see you, only Gwidhe's never been a morning person, and today is a particularly nasty morning for him."

"Yeah," Odessa sighed. "I know."

"So," Mihir ventured, "How have you been?"

"All right." She paused. "I saw Daven yesterday. I think he hates me now."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Of course. But he scares me, when he looks at me."

Mihir watched Odessa's face change with the memory of something she'd much rather forget. "It's Gwidhe he hates—you know that. He wouldn't do anything with Gwidhe here, _and_ your grandfather. He hasn't spoken to you…?"

"He said hello."

"It's best to forget about it." Mihir patted her on the shoulder cheeringly. "I'll be off now. See you at lunch."

Odessa nodded. "See you then."

---

For one whole day, Kagael wandered around as if in a daze. She tried to ask people to take her to Lirael; she wanted to see if her mother was all right. Once she saw the old sorcerer from last night, but he would only say that Lirael was fine and refused to take Kagael to her. Kagael saw Elyras several times throughout the day, and he was as cheery as ever. For some reason, his brightness gave her a headache.

Sometimes, Kagael would find that the things beneath her hands grew intensely hot when she touched them. It frightened her, and she knew that it had something to do with what the sorcerers had done to her the other night.

She didn't meet Mihir or Gwidhe at all that day, and no one she asked would tell her what was wrong with her. Elyras would only look at her strangely, and then his good spirits would become irritating again.

That night as Kagael was falling asleep, something inside her spoke.

__

You are my host now. Kagael.

"Who are you?" Kagael cried, sitting bolt upright.

__

I am the Destroyer, Orannis. You know me. Your mother was the one who sliced me in half.

Kagael stiffened with fear. Had she been possessed? __

Don't fear. I'm not here to take my revenge. I am not here of my own choice. Let us cooperate and find a way out of this…predicament together.

"Wh-what are you talking about?"

__

You don't want the Charter unraveled, do you? And I do not wish to be sacrificed. Let us liaise, and we will both benefit.

"What do you want?" Kagael demanded, no longer afraid, having overcome the initial shock of being addressed by the evil spirit.

__

The mage, Ulseil. He is the son of one who once served me. Hedge failed me, but his son will not. I want you to bring me to him.

The voice paused, and Kagael noticed that she'd been holding her breath. As she began to breathe again, Kagael felt a strange sensation within her, vibrating. Then she realized that It was laughing.

"Something amusing?" she asked, trying to make her tone hard. However, she knew that Orannis could sense her uncertainty.

__

Oh yes, It chuckled, _very amusing. To think that I am trapped within the offspring of my downfall, and asking for her help. But you _will_ help me._ The Destroyer's voice was poised, because It knew that It was right. _You have no choice._

And Kagael knew that, too.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Author's Note: Boring, dark chapter after a long wait.-sigh- I **Deserve** flames. Oh well.

Next: Chapter 11: Gjoa Haven…the plot thickens. Oh, and Kagy's birthday is coming up, so she'll be turning 16.


	12. Eleven: A Need to Take Action

I feel like I owe everyone an apology for taking so long to update the fic. (hands out plum flavored onigiri to Kaaratan-san Nota-chan) Thank you **so** much, everyone who actually stuck w/ me!

The sparring match in this chapter was made possible by the patience and helpful advice of **Sakura Shinguji-Albatou**—go check out her fantastic work! Also used for reference were the engaging and highly informative Redwall books, _Outcast of Redwall_ and _The Long Patrol_ by Brian Jacques. (specifically, the fencing match between the corsair Zigu and Captain Sabertache in _Outcast_ and the brief session Deodar had with Lady Cregga Rose Eyes in _Long Patrol_).

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— — —

DISCLAIMER: "Abhorsen", all names, places, and related indicia are the sole property of Garth Nix, whose work I hold in great admiration. The Ulseils, Venyeiyas, and Orkaire belong to me.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN: A Need to Take Action

Kagael's room had a panel of windows because it was along the outer precinct of the Citadel. The sun's rising rays were dazzling at this altitude as it streamed through the glass. Kagael woke feeling a great deal more awake than she'd been the day before.

It was very early, much too early for breakfast. The cooks would obviously be at work in the galley, preparing, but Kagael wasn't all that hungry yet. She dressed in her spare outfit and took to wandering the halls.

Kagael only knew the ways to the refectory and restrooms, but she supposed that if she got lost someone was bound to come and find her. After all, she was the host of Orannis now. So she walked somewhat aimlessly. In her mind, Kagael tried hard to recall the route to the chamber she'd been taken to the day before yesterday. However, she'd been carried by the command of Kibeth that night, and travelling so fast that she couldn't remember what rooms she'd passed or where she'd turned.

Kagael managed to get herself completely lost in five minutes. At first the fact didn't really bother her, until she realized that she might not be found in time for breakfast.

But then Kagael heard voices from around the corner, and she headed that way.

The door to the room was open so Kagael walked close and looked in. The room was an indoor salle, and a pretty sizeable one, too; it could probably be used to train a fighting unit of 20 or so with plenty of room to maneuver. At the moment, there were only two people in there. One was the brown-haired young man from onboard the _Lechuza Cruzada_; Kagael thought his name sounded something like 'kind'. The other was Captain Sidhegureth.

Sidhegureth's back was to the door as he talked with his sergeant. He was dressed in a simple, white long-sleeved tunic, and his long flaxen hair was caught in a ponytail, which flowed down his back. His posture spoke of casualness, leaning against the wall as he spoke. "…if Milo reaches Gjoa Haven at midnight by the end of this week, Kynned, he'll be right on time," Sidhegureth was saying. And then he turned around as if he'd known that Kagael was there all along.

"Good morning, young lady," he said.

She swallowed, aware that her face was going warm. "Um… Good morning, Captain Sidhegureth," she managed, smoothly enough. "I don't mean to bother you," she continued in a hurry, "But I'm just a bit lost. If you could give me directions…" she faltered as he smiled. _It must run in the royal family_, Kagael thought feverishly. _They've all got such fabulous smiles…dammit!_

"Are you in any hurry?" Sidhegureth asked.

"Well, no."

"Then you may stay with us, if you like. Sergeant Kynned and I will be going to the refectory for breakfast in a bit."

Kagael didn't know how to answer for a moment, then she asked, "What were you doing here? I-I really don't want to be of any trouble."

"Sword work," Kynned replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He hefted the wooden practice sword in his hand and slid it into place on the rack on the wall. He grinned. "Well, it's work for _me_, if you know what I mean, miss. For Captain Sidhegureth it honestly is sword_play_."

Kagael blinked, not sure she knew what he meant.

Sidhegureth gave a dismissive laugh. "Stop it, Kynned. I need the practice, too."

"Practice?" Kynned echoed in tones of exaggerated disbelief. "Then what in the name of the Charter were you doing, sparring with me? If it were practice you'd been wanting, you'd have taken on someone like Gwidhe, who can actually hold up for more than two minutes against you."

__

Oh, Kagael thought, feeling altogether foolish. Kynned had meant that the Captain was a good swordsman.

Sidhegureth shook his head, clearly not happy with the direction the conversation was heading in. "Don't discount yourself, my friend," he said tranquilly before turning to regard Kagael. "Know any swordplay yourself?"

Kagael swallowed, realizing that the question was directed at her. "Hardly anything that counts," she said quickly. "I've never truly fought anyone before."

"But you've been taught?"

She nodded.

"By whom, may I ask?"

"Well, my mother, at first, when I was eight. Then cousin Sameth. He's been working with me these last four years."

At this, the Captain looked rather interested. "Prince Sameth of the Old Kingdom? I've heard he's rather good."

Kagael was very fond of her cousin, who was like a second father to her sometimes. "He is," she said proudly.

"I'd love to spar with him sometime," Sidhegureth said, "but for now, I guess you'll have to do."

Kagael watched him select a practice sword from the rack. He was handing it to her, hilt first, when she finally grasped his meaning. "What? Oh…! I— A-are you _serious_?"

Sidhegureth grinned. "Perfectly. Oh come now, Kagael, you did say Prince Sameth taught you. Unless you mean to insult your teacher, you wouldn't decline."

Hesitantly, Kagael closed her hands over the hilt and stepped towards the center of the salle. This sword was rather heavy; it had to have been weighted, probably with a core of lead. Kagael had only started to train with one just this spring, and the extra weight chipped away at her confidence. Plus, she was already nervous from the prospect of a match with Sidhegureth.

"How does the practice sword feel? Not too heavy, I hope?" the Captain asked, his voice considerate. He selected a sword for himself and moved to face her.

Kagael looked up sharply. "No," she said determinedly, sounding more confident than she felt. Correcting her grip on the hilt, she raised it to chest-height, elbows slightly bent, shifting the weight towards her right. "I'm ready," she announced. _Well, I won't be getting any readier._ Already her hands had grown sweaty on the hilt.

Sidhegureth had taken up the parallel position, sword centered. His head was bowed but he kept his eyes on hers. He smiled.

Kagael drew in a sharp breath and twisted aside just in time, sweeping her wooden blade up to parry and neatly catching his first blow.

Sidhegureth drew back now, to all appearances making for a downward strike. Kagael saw through the ploy and blocked the slash as it came flat from his shoulder. The success buoyed her confidence. _And_ her footing had been correct.

She sought an opening now, ready for a strike of her own. But the Captain left no such opening, meeting each attempted blow so punctually it was as though he could read Kagael's mind.

"Watch it, missie!" She heard Kynned shout and darted aside, Sidhegureth's sword whistling past her shoulder. The near miss made Kagael's heart pound faster. She spun away to the left and caught the next blow, close to the hilt. Their wooden blades scraped briefly before she managed to break the lock. The Captain thrust down—she parried, just barely this time. Her sword was forced aside and she sidestepped, not fast enough. The flat of his blade struck her in the side, a light, calculated blow.

"One," Kynned noted from the sidelines.

"You're doing _very_ well," Sidhegureth told Kagael with a slight bow.

"And you're going very easy on me," she said, catching her breath.

"In your place I'd be glad Captain Gureth's a gentleman," Kynned remarked as Kagael faltered under a fresh onslaught of blows. This time Sidhegureth's practice sword thumped both her shoulders before he withdrew again with another tiny bow.

"Two, and three," Kynned announced.

With a silent promise to herself to try harder, Kagael charged the Captain, sword flickering for an opening. Like before, his blade carved up her attacks with an ease reminiscent of parting curtains. Soon, Kagael was forced to tossed aside all thoughts of attack, concentrating solely on warding off the majority of his blows. Sidhegureth's practice blade was a brown blur. Before two minutes had passed, her opponent had landed seven blows while all she caught was empty air.

Sidhegureth made as if to thrust towards her stomach, and Kagael sidestepped right into his downward slash. Yanking her sword up just barely in time, they locked hilts.

"You're fast," Sidhegureth murmured. He was still wearing that serene smile and hadn't even broken a sweat. "You should try to dodge rather than block me, Kagael. It takes less energy." He wrenched down and gave a deft twist upward. Kagael could only watch in dismay as her weapon left her hand in a rising arc and…

Quite suddenly, the wooden sword jumped in the air, whirling around and zooming towards the doorway where it clattered to the floor by a pair of red-enameled metal boots.

Kagael turned with a small gasp. Gwidhe stood at the entrance to the training salle, arms crossed and eyes blazing. The Charter marks for lifting and pulling that he had cast winked out and the young soldier kicked at the practice sword, causing it to skid across the floor, coming to a stop where Kynned stood by the rack.

"Sidhegureth," Gwidhe ground out, completely ignoring Kagael. "What the hell is the meaning of this!"

The Captain regarded his younger brother with an expression of gentle surprise. "It was merely a friendly sparring between the young lady and I."

"You thought you could kill her, didn't you?" Gwidhe snarled, and Kagael jumped. "Thought that if you extinguished the host you could get rid of Orannis, is that it?"

The words themselves, more than the forcefulness of Gwidhe's tone scared Kagael intensely.

"I don't see how you have reason to assume anything of that sort," Sidhegureth said coolly. "As you can see, we were using wooden swords. However, I will apologize for detaining miss Kagael from her breakfast."

"You slimy bastard—" Gwidhe began.

"It's all right," Mihir said hurriedly, coming up to the door beside Gwidhe. "No one was hurt. Let's go back to the refectory."

Gwidhe threw his brother a final dirty look before whirling around and striding down the hall, the clanking of his boots fading fast. Kagael realized she'd been holding her breath. She exhaled, unclenching her fists. Orannis' manifestation ceased its incessant buzzing within her.

__

Hedge's younger son is a difficult child, I see, the Destroyer hummed, sounding rather amused, before his presence receded again.

Mihir was still standing in the doorway, looking at Kagael with an expression of mingled guilt and concern. "Come on," he said. "Let's go."

Kagael turned around towards Sergeant Kynned and Captain Sidhegureth, not sure what to say. 'Thank you for your time', maybe, or apologize for bringing Gwidhe's wrath upon them. But Sidhegureth seemed very used to this sort of thing. He had untied his hair and was finger-combing the pale gold locks over his shoulder. Both he and Kynned gave her reassuring smiles.

"Go on," Sidhegureth told her. "And tell Prince Sameth, next you see him, that he taught you very well."

Kagael was about to ask why he thought she was going to be able to see her cousin again when she felt Mihir tug at her hand. So she merely nodded and mumbled "thanks" as she followed Mihir out of the salle.

"That whole fiasco was my fault," Mihir said quietly as soon as they turned the corner.

"What?" Kagael asked, having no idea what he meant.

Mihir sighed. "Gwidhe and I didn't see you in the refectory, so we sent someone to check on you. When Odessa—she's a soldier, friend of ours—came back and said your room was empty, Gwidhe became worried—"

"'Worried'?" Kagael echoed, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

Mihir rolled his eyes. "Alright, Gwidhe got _angry_. How's that? But anyway, that was when I just had to go and have a vision. I Saw you locked in combat in the training salle, and, well, I guess I panicked and misinterpreted to Gwidhe that someone was trying to kill you." He shook his head, clearly ashamed. "I'm really sorry."

"Don't blame yourself," Kagael told him.

They were silent for a long moment, and the silence seemed to stretch tighter. Then Mihir broke it, saying, "Er, Kagael, you know how you asked me to tell you about the vision I had that day in the main chamber?"

Before she could answer, he continued, rather hurriedly. "Well, in my vision, Kibeth took me back millenniums ago to the world before the Charter."

"How was it like?" Kagael asked before she could stop herself.

Mihir frowned. "It was magnificent," he said softly.

"Oh."

"Kagael," Mihir said, this time sounding uneasy. "The Walker left me with a choice after the vision and…and I…I don't know what to think… The price of Free Magic is to forget everything."

"So is that what you want?" Kagael asked, a little more sharply than she'd meant to.

Mihir was silent. But by that time they had reached the dining hall.

"Mihir," Kagael said, "You know where Kibeth is, then?"

"She's with Gwidhe," the Seer told her blandly. "The little soapstone dog."

__

I need to see her, Kagael thought restlessly, following Mihir to a table. _I need to talk with the Dog._ The spirit of Walker had known and loved Lirael, but more importantly, the Dog was a powerful entity of the Charter. Kagael was certain that if anyone had the power to help the Abhorsens escape, it would be Kibeth.

-

__

Roughly 24 hrs ago…

There were three men meeting in Touchstone's study. The former king sat at his desk with his back to the window, his face in shadow. His son and brother-in-law sat across from him. The younger men had been speaking.

"Vanished," Nicholas Sayre whispered dully, repeating his best friend's last words, "without a trace…"

"I'm sorry," Sameth said, his voice a little broken.

"Stop apologizing, Sam," Touchstone said sharply. "It's no use. The search parties have been futilely searching the borders for this last week. It's not your fault."

"But where…? You said it wasn't Orkaire—"

"It's clearly not—"

"Then who!" Nicholas cried. "Who would want the Abhorsens, and why did they take Kagael, too?"

A three loud raps sounded on the study door. Touchstone heaved a deep sigh and got up to answer it.

A dark-haired young man with a pageboy haircut bowed low. "Your Lordship," he said in a reedy tenor, "The merchant Kemilo seeks an audience—"

"Tell him to go away, Timothy," Sameth called over his father's shoulder at the page before Touchstone could reply. "None of us have got the time to deal with petty trading hassles right now!"

"Yes, tell him that," Touchstone said grimly, moving to shut the door.

"B-but," the page Timothy sputtered, "Kemilo says it's concerning the fate of the world!"

"What, the shipment of tea leaves from southeast Estwael?" Sameth scoffed. "Tell the man to take a running dive and boil his addled brains in the Belisaere harbor!"

"It's Lady Sabriel, Lirael Goldenhand, and Kagael… He knows where they are, or where they will be, he says—"

"Who's this man?" Touchstone demanded.

"Says his name's Kemilo, m'lord. He's a merchant—"

"And how does he know so much?"

"He says he's a friend of, er, Captain Gureth Ul-sail or somesuch—"

"Sidhegureth Ulseil, of Orkaire?" Touchstone's voice rose in volume.

"Yes, that's what he said! And Kemilo said that he needs to see you in person, won't send a message or anything—"

"Where is this Kemilo now?" Touchstone asked angrily.

"In the throne room, m'lord, having a row with Her Majesty Ellimere—"

"Bring him here, immediately." The former king looked thunderous, his voice filled with barely suppressed ire.

"Yes, m'lord!" Ducking low, the page whirled around and fairly sprinted down the hallway.

-

The door was thrown open by Prince Sameth before the page's fist even connected with the wood.

"Come in, merchant Kemilo," Touchstone commanded from his desk.

Kemilo entered, seeming completely at ease. He swept a bow to Touchstone and inclined his head respectfully towards Sameth and Nicholas.

"My Lord Torrigan," he began.

"How much do you scum want?" Touchstone asked bluntly, cutting him off.

Kemilo blinked. "How much…what?" he inquired.

"The ransom money, or whatever you've taken them for!" Sameth barked close by the merchant's head, making the man lose his poise by jumping away.

"Oh, oh no, there's a little misunderstandin' here, surely," Kemilo said, "We haven't kidnapped the Abhorsen, Goldenhand, or the girl—"

"Who burned Navis?" Nicholas demanded, blue eyes flashing murderously.

"That would be Wing Commander Gwidhe Ulseil of the Orkairen Citadel Fleet, but what I'm here to tell you is—"

"It was Orkaire, then!" Sameth crowed. "And they've taken Mother, Aunt Lirael, and Kagael, too, haven't they? This calls for war!"

"Well, yes, I mean, no," Kemilo's voice became nervous and he began speaking quite fast. "It's all a part of Sulumor's master plan to unravel the Charter, startin' in the Clayr's Glacier, which'll prob'ly be overrun by Free Magic creatures anytime this week now that I think about it…"

"Sit down," Touchstone commanded. "Tell me all of which you claim, from the beginning."

Kemilo obeyed, and wetting his lips, he began. "You see, my lordships, the elder prince of Orkaire was disowned ten years ago because of his studies in magic. Since then, he's been workin' with the sorcerer Vogsako to return the world to Free Magic so, ah, he can reign."

He went on to explain how all the sleeping entities trapped in the Glaciers had been awakened by the Prince's efforts and were now breaking out of their confinements. "But there's really nothin' you can do for that, not now, not if'n you want to stop this whole thing from happenin'. Y'see, the Abhorsens an' the girl are now bein' taken to an island known as Gjoa Haven. Along wi' some other mages, they're being used as—" he grimaced "—hosts for the essence o' the Destroyer."

Nicholas drew in a sharp breath as though he'd been stabbed.

"When the Destroyer is sacrificed at the altar they constructed at the nodal vortex o' the Charter, the weave'll be broken an' Free Magic will return.

"Anyway, what I'm proposin' we do is set out after the Orkairen Citadel with as many mages as we can get an' the royal army. Our only chance we got to save the Charter is to take Sulumor an' his sorcerers an' troops on an' defeat 'em. The element o' surprise will be our only plus, true, but Captain Gureth always says it's worth it…an' he's willin' to die." Kemilo bowed his head, taking a deep breath. "I know you've got little reason to believe me, m' lords, but I've told you all I can. Whether you choose to comply is up to you. As for me an' my men, we're leavin' tomorrow at firs' light."

Nearly an entire minute passed before anyone spoke. It was Nicholas who finally broke the silence, his voice level and resolute. "I'll be coming with you, mister Kemilo. I'm a mage, and I'll do everything I can for the Charter, my wife, and my daughter."

"We're bringing the whole army," Sameth added. "Every last soldier, scout, the navy, even the royal guard and defense force. Father, summon every mage we have at hand and hire every mercenary brigade we find."

The former king nodded his assent. "This is impossible," Touchstone growled. "But even if we should all perish in defeating this Sulumor, the Great Charters will redeem us."

Kemilo lifted his face, smiling broadly. "Really? You'll come?"

"Yes!" Nicholas exclaimed indignantly.

"Even if it's just us—a band o' pirates an' the army of the Old Kingdom?"

"Of course," Touchstone said.

"That's terrific!" the merchant beamed. "In that case, I might as well tell you, m'lords, the entire fightin' force o' the kingdom of Estwael is comin' too, though they 'aven't got mages. We're sailin' tomorrow at dawn—"

"Then we've no time to waste!" Sameth shouted. "Father, I'm going to send out all of our heralds."

"You do that," Touchstone said. "I will speak to the troops myself this afternoon.

"And Kemilo," Touchstone turned to the man, who now sat running a hand through his unruly hair. "If we come out of this victorious, I'll make you the Royal Privateer, and you'll get to keep every last bauble of your plunder."

"I'm a merchant, sir, not a pirate!" Kemilo said, looking innocent.

"Obviously," Sameth snorted. "And I'm a salmon."

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

A/N: Another veeeery talkie chapter. Gosh, I'm really sorry my characters talk so much. And I'm also sorry, fellow Gwidhe fangirls, that Gwidhe did next to nothing in this chapter. He'll have lots and lots of screentime starting next chapter, which shall be the long awaited "Gjoa Haven". Please leave some constructive criticism on your way out!


	13. Twelve: A Glimpse of Gwidhe

A/N: No excuse this time…no disorienting move—no family issues—no getting grounded from the computer—not even writer's block. I was just procrastinating, so nya. :P

Oh, and for those who've been following this fic—Yes, indeed there will be a romance, not much of a romance, and no happy ending, but rewarding nonetheless.

And a message to those who read and don't review…**You're So Mean!** If you're reading this fic and don't let me in on your doing so…**I Won't Update!** (…even tho' it's probably not fair to make everyone wait for updates…) **But it's Pathetic!** I have 12 chapters up and only 45 reviews! If I'm a bad writer, **tell me!** Flame me, even, and I'll stop writing! 'Cos it's a waste of my time, too, if I'm just writing stuff that no one's reading! I mean, my last chapter **only** got **one** **review**! Let me know what's wrong with me!

((pant…pant))

****

DISCLAIMER: "Abhorsen", all names, places, and related indicia are the sole property of Garth Nix, whose work I hold in great admiration. The Ulseils, Venyeiyas, and Orkaire belong to me.

* * *

CHAPTER TWELVE: A Glimpse of Gwidhe

The Walker came to Kagael that night. The girl had been sleeping, but when Kibeth entered the room, Orannis flared up like a torch within Kagael's breast and she sat up with a heaving gasp. Before she knew what was happening, a great, burning force hurled out of her, hoisting the Dog up off the floor to slam her forcibly into the wall.

But the Walker was, apparently, very well prepared. Even as the Destroyer attacked, the Dog barked. Her four paws left the ground and she shot up, but she did not go flying. Instead, the bright mark that she spat out with her call caught the force of Orannis like a shield, spinning it out in a reversed vortex, dissolving like a breath of wind in the air.

The Dog paddled casually back down to stand on the floor. Her dark eyes sparkling knowingly as she gave an ebullient woof. "Getting rusty, my Brother?"

Kagael gasped weakly, a burning sensation roiling in her stomach. She gagged, and the liquid fire poured from her throat in the form of the Destroyer's voice. "You are as _sickeningly_ insolent as the day you were formed, little sister. It is this pathetic, _human_—" It spat the word "—body. I cannot use my powers as I would hope to, of I would burn my host to a husk. And if I do that, the sorcerer Sulumor will feed me into the body of a young man, Elyras, from whom there will be no hope of escape."

"Oh, lackaday," the Dog lamented mockingly, trotting over and placing her paws on Kagael's lap.

Kagael pleaded with her eyes, wanting to ask the Dog for help, but Orannis did not let her speak. _Oh, Kibeth…please!_

The Dog cocked her head, smiling. "My, my, you _do_ look awfully pretty when you're helpless." She gave Kagael an affectionate lick on the nose, and the girl felt a rush of comfort. "Especially your eyes…they're your father's eyes, aren't they? But, ah, you have Lirael's lips, and nose and chin, and ears…yet you still don't look that much like your mother." The Dog sounded a little disappointed, which made Kagael wilt a bit inside. Kibeth harrumphed. "As I was saying, you're adorable when you're helpless and beseeching. But then, you're seldom the latter two, or so Gwidhe tells me."

__

He talks to you about me? Kagael demanded in her mind, aware that her face was going red. She felt Orannis' derisive laugh in response. Kagael shuddered with the force of the scorching vibrations.

"Now, stop that!" the Dog ordered sharply. "I came to see the girl, not watch you torment her. I want to see what I can do about this little paradox we're currently mired in. You see, I haven't been still at all. I've managed to have a chat with the young Seer Mihir, and I also dropped in on your mother and aunt, Kagael. Sabriel is doing quite well, albeit going out of her mind…Oh, only very slightly," Kibeth said quickly upon receiving Kagael's startled look.

"What about Mother?" Kagael blurted out, discovering with delight that the Destroyer was letting her speak.

"She sleeps, most of the time," the Dog said. "But she is recovering. There is severe damage to her throat, and it is uncertain whether she'll regain the ability to speak again."

"But she will be all right," Kagael whispered, falling back against her pillows. She blinked and tears flowed from the corners of her eyes. "Oh, Kibeth, we'll be safe now, won't we? You're going to help us all escape?"

"Running away is far from the solution," the Dog said gravely. "Besides, how do you propose that that be done? We are—to put it simply—in a rock floating over the sea, not to mention a hundred feet in the air."

"What can we do?" Kagael asked. The spark of hope that had ignited within her upon seeing the Walker was dying rapidly. Then a thought occurred to her, and it also occurred to her that it wasn't such a terrible thought. "I simply need to die, isn't that it? If I die, it'll all be over—"

"Too right it will all be over!" the Dog barked harshly. "Did you not hear what Orannis said? When you die, Its spirit entity shall be transferred to this Elyras. And if I'm not mistaken, that young man belongs to Sulumor, body and soul."

__

Even death is too easy, Kagael thought, and she had to try hard to keep the tears from rushing forth once more.

"But do not despair," the Dog said gruffly.

"How can you ask that?" Kagael demanded, choking back a sob. "You just said there was no way…"

"I did not say that." The Dog gently licked away the tears that had worked their way down Kagael's cheeks. "But our way out cannot be achieved by you alone. We will need help. I believe—truly believe—that we might have Mihir on our side now. At the present we must work on Gwidhe."

Kagael almost laughed. "Convince Gwidhe to fight against Sulumor? He would never do that—he'd kill me if he found out about this…he'd…he'd kill _you!_" Her voice was growing faintly panicky.

"You forget," the Dog woofed dryly, "Or have you not been told?" She continued at Kagael's scowl of incomprehension. "I have been Gwidhe's close companion for nigh on ten years now," Kibeth explained. "He will bend to our cause as long as you apply a little pressure. The main problem is his Saraneth implant…Has Gwidhe told you about that?"

Kagael shook her head. She knew that Saraneth the Binder was the sixth Charter, and she knew that Saraneth was also the name of the sixth bell, but she had no idea what a Saraneth implant was.

The Dog nodded as though to say, _I'd thought as much. _"I will explain quickly," she said. "Gwidhe has an implant on the small of his back—a tiny metallic protuberance connected to his spinal cord. Whenever Sulumor and his sorcerers will it, this implant sends impulses to Gwidhe's consciousness. It acts much like the bell Saraneth in this manner and commands his mind just like my bark can control your limbs, effortlessly.

"It was the Saraneth implant that made Gwidhe burn Navis."

Kagael frowned. "And he can't remove it at all…What about you, haven't you tried?"

"Before now, I haven't had a need to. But I did try, yesterday night when Gwidhe slept. It seems that this implant is infused with a Free Magic form of Saraneth. When I touched it, I instantly reverted—against my will—to the form of a soapstone statuette, unable to move for several minutes." The Dog looked terribly befuddled.

"What can I do?" Kagael asked.

For a long moment, there was only the buzzing of Orannis inside her. Finally, the Dog looked up and spoke. "You can go back to sleep now, Kagael. I have told you everything of consequence thus far. From this moment, you will forge on as best you can. I can only say, be brave, and follow your heart." She paused. "You will not die," she woofed softly, "So do not fear for your life. Perhaps you will learn to fear for another's."

Kagael pulled herself back up as the Dog drew away from the bed and trotted away, towards the door. "Wait, Kibeth, what do you mean?"

The Dog looked back over her shoulder, still walking, her amber eyes soft and dark. "I'm glad to have met you and spoken to you in person, Kagael Abhorsen, Daughter of Lirael Goldenhand. You will be Remembrancer when the time comes, but do not spend your life in memories or you will waste the sacrifice that let you live."

"Sacrifice?" Kagael echoed. "When…who…?"

But somehow, the Dog had gone.

— — —

Some days passed, largely uneventful. Mihir came to see her a few times, once bringing some books from Captain Sidhegureth. The last time, he stayed a little longer, asking if she'd had a chance to speak with Kibeth, and what services did the Walker require of him, if anything. Mihir didn't have to say more; Kagael knew that he would help them to the best of his ability.

During these days, she was summoned to Gwidhe's chamber every evening to practice Free Magic. Kagael concentrated on everything her instructor showed her, despite the evident and slightly unsettling change in his attitude. Gwidhe seemed to regard her with a mix of discomfort and uncertainty now, no longer the disdain he showed before. She noticed that he moved carefully around her, as though all too aware of the Destroyer hovering inside her body, flinching away whenever he deemed that she drew too close.

Once, Kagael tried asking him about Hedge, his father. She felt almost instantly that she'd said the wrong thing, Orannis flickering eagerly inside her. Gwidhe start to grow angry very noticeably.

"Don't you know everything that matters, Kagael?" he asked her in a stony voice, bitterness running like veins through his words. "Your mother _killed_ my father before I was born; I've never met him." His last words were deliberate, cutting.

Kagael realized that Gwidhe had thought she was goading him, asking him about Hedge when the Sorcerer had died before his son could ever see him. She wanted to say sorry, but then, asking forgiveness would be selfish like this, when she felt no grief for Hedge. The silence seemed to stretch forever until Gwidhe sent her away. Kagael half expected that to be the last of her Free Magic lessons, and couldn't help feeling the tiniest bit of regret.

But the following day, Gwidhe came knocking at her chamber door, demanding to know why she was late. And so the lessons continued.

The day after that she asked Gwidhe why he disliked his brother, Sidhegureth. To Kagael's surprise, Gwidhe did not grow angry like he had before. Instead, he completely ignored her question and went on explaining the formation of a Free Magic spell.

"Do you mind me asking?" Kagael said rather blatantly during a lull in his explanation.

Gwidhe fixed her with an unreadable stare. "Why do you care what there is between Gureth and I?" he demanded.

__

He calls him Gureth, Kagael noted with some surprise. "You're very different," she said, "You and Captain Sidhegureth. But you _are_ brothers, and…"

"And I hate him with every fiber of my being?"

"Do you?"

"'Course not."

Gwidhe fell silent. After a moment he stood and began pacing the length of his room. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his trousers and the expression on his face was altogether sullen. It made him look, Kagael thought, a lot younger than twenty years, which was how old she was guessing he was.

"If it bothers you…" she began.

"Damn right it bothers me," Gwidhe said surlily. "But I suppose you want to know, besotted as you are with Gureth."

"I'm not _besotted_," Kagael said a little indignantly, feeling the heat rise in her face.

Gwidhe turned to regard her, an eyebrow lifted. "You told me you were, or have you forgotten? _'I think I've got a screaming crush on him'_—those were your exact words."

Kagael hadn't forgotten that. "And you told me not to compare the two of you…why?"

"You're slower than I thought, Kagael," Gwidhe said quietly. "It's completely obvious…everyone knows. Gureth's _perfect_, that's why." He turned away, eyes downcast. "He's everything I've ever wanted to be…They say he's a lot like Mother was." Gwidhe gave a tense little laugh. "She must've been an angel, then. Pity I never knew her, either."

"I'm so sorry, Gwidhe," Kagael said, and she meant it this time. It had never occurred to her that Gwidhe was an orphan.

After a long pause, wherein Gwidhe did not move, Kagael got up from her seat and walked over to him to see what the matter was. She was surprised to find that he was grinning. Kagael wondered if she'd said something funny, or stupid.

"I was beginning to wonder," Gwidhe remarked, "if you didn't know my name, because that is the first time you've said it."

Kagael blinked, realizing that what he'd said was true. Then Gwidhe was moving away again, as though remembering that Orannis' host was standing beside him. "It's late," he said a bit abruptly. "You'd better leave."

"Oh, all right." Kagael started to go. Then, for some reason she halted briefly and said, completely on impulse, "Say hello to the Dog for me."

Gwidhe's eyes narrowed. He didn't say another word, but she felt his gaze boring into her back all the way till she shut the door behind her.

— — —

Kagael rose early the in the morning due to the persistent buzzing of the evil spirit inside her. There was little else to do but to wash up and get dressed. She moved to look out the window, trying to breathe as she dragged a comb through her hair. It was a bright, clear day, and she squinted slightly against the intensity of the sun. Her breath felt hot and metallic, burning her nostrils and making her lips painfully dry.

To Kagael's surprise, an escadrille of about twelve paperwings flying in arrowhead formation was heading for the Citadel. The crafts were of a pale, metallic grey-blue coloring. As they came closer, Kagael could make out a design emblazoned along the sides of their noses; it resembled a hieroglyphic of a baleful golden eye with ebony spokes wheeling out around it. As the wings drew abreast to the Citadel, preparing to dock, Kagael was able to see that the insignia was actually a twelve-rayed sun, the symbol of Orkaire.

She accidentally tugged too hard with the comb as the Destroyer leapt into wakefulness. "Ow!" she gasped faintly, putting a hand to her head.

He is there.

"What?" Kagael asked.

__

Hedge's younger son, Orannis hissed vehemently.

"What's the matter with you?"

__

You are not_ making progress,_ the Destroyer snarled, _and because of your incompetence we shall both meet our ends in a few days' time!_

"What do you mean?" Kagael demanded. "I've been trying really hard with Gwidhe, and personally, I think I've been making a lot of progress."

__

You imbecilic human, Orannis grated viciously, sending a sizzling tremor through Kagael's bones. She staggered against the wall, dropping the comb to the floor with a clatter. _You are making no effort to end our plight! You have made nary a move to remove this _Saraneth implant_ that plagues my young servant_—

"Gwidhe," Kagael said raggedly, "is not your servant. And what do you expect me to do about the implant? Walk up to Gwidhe and say, 'Excuse me, but would you mind taking your shirt off so I can _saw that metal knob out of your spine?_' It can't be done!"

__

It **will** be done. I…we_ have very little time left. I feel the Charter's weakening…and the pungency of Free Magic. _The Destroyer crackled fitfully. _You will cease your dallying. Bring me eye to eye with an unguarded Gwidhe, and I will do the rest of the work._

Kagael had sunk against the floor. How she _hated_ being so without control of her own body. "I'll do it," she said shakily. Then, "I'll do it!"

__

Good. With that, Orannis once again faded to a buzz.

Getting to her feet, Kagael left her room. She walked down the passage that led to the main entrance hall, arriving in the chamber just in time to glimpse a large black door sliding downward to close up the way in to the paperwing hangar. A group of soldiers were lined up not far from there. They were all clad in uniforms of black leather, tailored into elegant lines flattering to their form, with jackets and tassets whose cuffs and edges were of smoothly gleaming tawny fiber, and greaves and boots of enameled metal

The troop's commander stood in front of the two neat lines, his back to Kagael as he addressed his men. Kagael had to admit that the uniform was very becoming, though the choice of color made Gwidhe's platinum-blonde hair look exceedingly metallic. After a bit, all the men saluted in one movement and the lines dispersed. Gwidhe briefly conferred with one of the soldiers—probably his second in command—before letting him go, too.

When all the men had left and only Gwidhe was standing there, Kagael walked up to him. He turned as she drew abreast and took (his now customary) few steps away.

"You're a pilot?" she spoke before she thought. What a completely demented thing to say. _Of course_ Gwidhe was a pilot! Who wouldn't know, especially after hearing him addressed as wing commander only about half a million times. Kagael wondered if perhaps she could walk through the wall.

Gwidhe gave her the barest of nods. "You're up early."

Kagael swallowed. "I-It…the Destroyer, that is, woke me up." Was she mistaken, or did Gwidhe grimace?

"I see."

"Your unit was on patrol, right? I saw through the window. Could you tell me where we are now?" Kagael asked.

"The Citadel is currently hovering above Keion Valley," Gwidhe replied. "We arrived at the island of Gjoa Haven at four o'clock in the morning."

__

Gjoa Haven…Unbidden, Elyras' words about the island and the Uncharted came back to Kagael. Instinctively, she plunged for the Charter. Before she could make contact, however, a shield slid neatly into place. She looked up at Gwidhe, startled.

"I don't think you'll be needing that," he told her.

"Don't, please," she said, knowing it sounded feeble.

"And why shouldn't I?" Gwidhe asked.

Careful to keep eye contact, she responded, "It's my birthday tomorrow." And it was…she was to turn sixteen tomorrow afternoon. Kagael had to swallow the lump forming in her throat as her thoughts unexpectedly turned to her mother, Lirael.

Gwidhe smiled vaguely. "Is it really?"

The buzzing within Kagael had grown at a tremendous rate and she felt a burning at the back of her eyes that was most certainly not attributed to tears. "Yes," she answered Gwidhe, struggling to keep her voice normal.

Gwidhe frowned at her. "Is something wrong? You sound…"

The buzzing had grown to a roar that drowned out everything. It was a sound, and a sensation that made Kagael's entire body thrum with a prickling, fiery pain. Her eyes watered and her vision swam. She tore her gaze from Gwidhe, wanting to tell him, warn him away, but her throat clenched, burned, and she could not speak.

__

Orannis! she screamed in her mind, _What are you going to do to him?_

There was no response from the Destroyer.

The grayness of the chamber's steel walls peeled away like windblown curtains at the edges of Kagael's vision. She was suddenly on a high plain, somewhere with long grass bending in gentle swells like waves when the cold wind moved smoothly over them. She could hear an archaic wooden flute being played somewhere far, it's shivery notes on the wind making the chill seem bitter. But the most prominent sound she heard was the clash and clangs of a pair of wooden swords. Kagael turned slowly.

A little distance behind her, two young men were locked in combat. Both were bare to the waist, their torsos gleaming with sweat despite the cold. One of them, whipcord slender, looked to be no more than thirteen years old. His sweat-dampened hair glistened, bright as silver filigree, long bangs tossing with intermittent gusts of wind. He put Kagael in mind of a gull, thin and light, but he fought with a ferocity that turned his amaranthine eyes into bloody fire, lips curled back in a wordless snarl as he swung at his opponent.

The older boy was clearly Sidhegureth, his faultless flaxen hair wafting each time he dodged a blow. Gwidhe—the younger—was losing, slowly but surely.

In the seconds that followed, the Ulseil brothers wove a swift pattern dance over the grass, the elder forcing the younger back, back, back until finally, Sidhegureth performed a quick skirmishing movement that wrenched away Gwidhe's weapon. The wooden sword thumped to the grass.

To Kagael's surprise, Gwidhe merely stood with his head bowed, shoulders rising and falling as he regained his breath. "What did I do wrong this time, Gureth?" he asked breathlessly. "I just can't seem to keep up…"

"When you cross swords with a man you must put yourself aside," his older brother said patiently. "Bitter rage may be yours, but never blind rage."

"You only landed a single blow on me this time, brother. I _am_ getting better." Gwidhe lifted his head. His eyes were clear now, expectant. And, watching, Kagael couldn't help but feel her heart race with a new, unbidden fondness.

Sidhegureth's heliotrope eyes were rather distant. "Yes, you are getting better."

"What are you thinking?" young Gwidhe demanded, concerned.

"I was thinking how much you're like Father, at least, what I remember of him," Sidhegureth replied. He bent over and retrieved the practice sword from the grass, holding it out hilt-first to Gwidhe.

Gwidhe took it. "Everyone thinks that…How _am_ I like Father?"

"You have a heart of fire," Sidhegureth said, pulling a shirt on and smoothing his hair. "And you're an extraordinary mage." He began walking.

Gwidhe walked beside his older brother, a small frown on his face as he tied the laces of his shirt. "I know, I know."

"Gwidhe," Sidhegureth said, "I can't teach you anymore."

"What?" The younger Ulseil brother stopped, looking at the elder in disbelief. "What do you mean—Why?"

"They told me to tell you…" Sidhegureth said. "You're leaving this week to the mage academy. I guess…we won't be seeing each other for a couple of years."

Gwidhe swore. "They can't do this to me!" he protested. "Make me leave everyone behind…my family…you and Mihir, everyone! They can't!"

"I'm sorry, Gwidhe," his brother said quietly. "We were meant to take different paths. Make the most of what they give you…"

Sidhegureth's subdued voice and the brumal landscape all swirled together and vaporized in a whorl of haze. Stars exploded in Kagael's vision—she was back in the entrance chamber of the Citadel…or had she ever left…?

Gwidhe stood across from her, his head in his hands. "What the hell were you doing to me?" he demanded furiously.

'I don't know', Kagael mouthed, for no sound came. The last of her strength seemed to have vanished, then, and she crumpled. She saw Gwidhe reach out to catch her before the black mist completely stifled her vision.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

A/N: The sole reason that I keep writing is because I, personally, find this fic an enjoyable experience. But I've got plenty of better things to do than fanfic-ing, as I've probably proved by my increasingly greater delays in updating of late.

So. I will put my old _custom_, if you will, back into practice, and that is—**Three New Reviews, or No New Chapter**. And **Artemis**—that does **not** mean anonymously post reviews with invented names, no matter how badly you want another chapter. Gomen nasai.

V  
V  
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It's that purple button that says "Go", for those who don't know.


	14. Thirteen: Watering Ferns

DISCLAIMER: "Abhorsen", all names, places, and related indicia are the sole property of Garth Nix, whose work I hold in great admiration. The Ulseils, Venyeiyas, and Orkaire belong to me.

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Watering Ferns

"_Wake  
up,  
Kagael  
Abhorsen…_"

The words were soft like snow, softly cool and coolly stinging; they fell upon her like snow, and seemed to melt upon touching her burning skin. She felt like a dry, dusty husk being watered.

Had she heard that voice before…somewhere? Kagael couldn't quite place it. Male, not old, but not young either. The voice sounded kindly, with the sort of concern that comes of having been hurt before.

"Kagael."

She opened her eyes, sitting up slowly, and saw a stranger. He was a man, perhaps in his early thirties, but his blue-black hair was already graying. His face, Kagael thought, though lean and handsome, was a little too thin. There was something akin to despair lurking in his deep burgundy eyes, like that of a dying man.

He sat on a chair across from the bed, and stood, almost respectfully, when she sat up. His raiment was of fine, dark- colored cloth overlaid with a glossy shagreen vest. He looked like nobility. Behind him, on a small stand, was an elegant vase of china blue, which held a fern that looked to be withering away.

"Who…" Her voice sounded whispery-scratchy like sand. She wet her throat and tried again; "Who are you?"

"I am your captor," the man answered simply, his expression unchanging.

"You're the Prince," Kagael said, realization dawning.

The man nodded. "I am Prince Sulumor."

Kagael plunged for the Charter, forming her mind into a razor and thrusting with all her strength towards the river of shimmering gold. Eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched tight, she felt Gwidhe's newly instigated shield fly apart in a multitude of sharply glittering shards, filling her skull with insurmountable pinpoints of pain. Insentience, she filled her hands with marks of breaking and burning and cast them at Sulumor, linked together in a feverish torrent of common binding marks.

The spell surged forward, serpentine and shedding sparks, only to splatter, splaying out as water drops against Prince Sulumor's front.

How…What? Kagael couldn't seem to register clearly what had just happened. She felt her supporting arm collapse under her from the sudden weakness that came of breaking Gwidhe's barrier and casting that unsystematic spell. Her vision swam as her cheek sank against the pillow. Mistily, she made out Prince Sulumor lifting an arm to wipe the wetness from his face with a dark sleeve.

At his gesture, the droplets on the floor seemed to fly up and gather, hovering, in front of the Prince. He reached for a tall glass from the table beside him and, with gentle fingers, herded the clear, floating puddle into the container. It looked just like an ordinary glass of water now.

The room smelled like spring and melting snow as Sulumor turned and tipped the contents of the glass into the china vase.

"Excuse me, Kagael," the Prince said with his back to her, "Rest now, and regain your strength."

There was a soft _chink_ as Sulumor set down the glass. He moved towards the door of the room, slipping from the periphery of Kagael's vision. She watched, disbelieving, as the withering fern was engulfed in glistening mist-fires of blue. The fronds slowly uncurled, lifting upward, the skeletal brown filling out into a healthy pale green, and Kagael slept.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o- O

Sulia Serafine-sensei…you continue to flatter me! I don't deserve you as a reader!

& Everyone else… I would like to thank you guys for enjoying this fic. It made me feel special! ((big grin)) I'm a horrible person, really, and I'll understand if you're angry with me for being such a lazy bum. Oh! Here's an idea—get an FFN account for yourself, and put me on your Author Alert Watch List! That way, you'll get an email notice whenever I update, so you don't need to check for new chappies.

Finally, YES I REALIZE I CATEGORIZED THIS PIECE OF CRUD UNDER Action/Adventure/**_ROMANCE_**, but get this—I've **never** written a romance before and I already know that I'll stink to high heaven at it, so be…lenient, _pls_, b/c I'm t-r-y-i-n-g my best… D mn it, I'm a pathetic 14-year-old wannabe, and I know it every time I sit down at my laptop to write. (& Did I ever mention that my compy is **so** **slow** it makes Chafaris w/ arthritis look like Liu Xiang?-?-?)

((pant pant))

heheh…ranting is fun…

Sorry sorry sorry that this chapter was so fragmentary! I'm having mega-writers'-block, but I still thought that I ought to get this thing updated… Next up…it's Kagy's sweet sixteen! ;) 

Thank **you** for sticking with me this far…those of you who've actually stuck, that is. ((wipes tears)) There's only, like, **four** of you, but that's okay! ((bawls)) If you're a reader, just know that I **love** you for that! I **WILL** finish this fic, no matter how crappy I find it, and however **long** it takes. It's the **first** d mn thing I ever uploaded—it's the reason I registered on FFN!-!-! For that reason alone, if no other—**AND** the fact that Artemis might take a blowtorch to me—**I** **WILL** **SEE** **KAGY** **THROUGH**!-!-!

Finally, pls don't post a signed review for this chapter yet; I'll probably be adding to it before long!


	15. It's over

I know it's not the same, and I apologize...

But I remembered 'Kagael', and I figured that if you still wonder about this story, you at least deserve to know how it ends.

You can read it here:

http : // comments. deviantart. com/ 4/ 1650813/ 884676859  
(delete the spaces)


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